


Grinding Rep in the Shadowlands

by drowsyfantasy



Series: Grinding Rep [6]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Drama, F/F, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Other, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, POV reader, Shadowlands (Warcraft), Silly, Torture, World of Warcraft: Shadowlands Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27760756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowsyfantasy/pseuds/drowsyfantasy
Summary: After realizing you have to earn Exalted with these factions, you figure there just HAS to be an easier way to grind...and then it hits you.AZEROTH'S MOST FAMOUS HO IS BACK, BAYBEE! As everyone's favourite sexy heroine, you're tasked with helping to save the world once more from destruction. Who will you sleep with, and who will get snubbed?!A/U in the series (Shadowlands has confirmed that the Multiverse theory is real, so this is partially connected to some of the previous Date Night chapters). More chapters (and pairings, and tags) will be added as the expansion continues, the goal being a complete retelling of The Story Thus Far, only a lot more horny. Blizzard, don't @ me. I'm just doing my duty. Updates Saturdays.
Relationships: You/Bolvar Fordragon, You/Everyone, You/Everyone (implied)
Series: Grinding Rep [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/986877
Comments: 23
Kudos: 89





	1. PROLOGUE: AZEROTH

_Well, that’s alarming_ , you think to yourself as you stare up at the hole in the sky. It looks like an enormous mirror has been shattered above you, leading into a terrifyingly endless shadowy void. You put down your ham and cheese sandwich, and start running for the nearest flight master. 

The path eventually leads you to Northrend, fighting back endless waves of the Scourge, seemingly re-animating themselves within moments of killing them. Only by setting their bodies on fire and reducing them to ash do you seem to start to turn the tide. The valleys and crevices of Icecrown are filled with oily black choking smoke, and the smell of charred flesh reminds you just a little too much of Teldrassil. 

In the end, though, the Argent Crusade manages to get the area locked down, and after you arrive home in Silvermoon, a missive arrives for you from Highlord Darion Mograine, calling you to the capital. 

_Champion - the veil between our world and the Shadowlands has been sundered._

_The Ebon Blade stands ready. I await you in Orgrimmar. Come, before the icy grasp of Death claims Azeroth._

The newly established portal network gets you there quickly, and you pass crowds of worried people on your way to Grommash Hold. Darion is standing there in front of it, full armor on, and his pose relaxes a little as you approach. 

“It’s good to see you again,” he calls out, and you nod politely in response. It’s been a while, but you remember him keenly. “This is Nazgrim - I’m not sure if you two have met.” 

“We have, if only briefly.” you glance over at the orc. He side-grins, but it turns grim when Darion asks him to explain what happened. As he does, your heart sinks. Baine, you had almost expected, considering his rebellion before. And Jaina, and Anduin - the constant Alliance thorns in her side. And Thrall, too? Perhaps returning to Azeroth, for him, was a mistake...still, they seem to be happy to see that you’re here. 

“Let me open a Death Gate to the Acherus. We’ve moved it to Icecrown Citadel, for...uh...reasons.” he looks sheepishly at Nazgrim. 

“We were gonna kill the Lich King,” Nazgrim explains, not ashamed at all. Darion wilts a little more. “Turns out, we didn’t have to. Sylvanas fucked it up first.” 

“She tends to go her own way, doesn’t she? Well, where’s that portal, Darion? It’s been a while since I’ve used one of _your_ holes…” 

Darion audibly chokes and Nazgrim roars with laughter, as passers-by turn their heads in confusion, but the Death Gate is casted, and you walk through with a shiver. At the top of the citadel, the sky is even bleaker. You can see a tall, upside-down tower coming down to meet the tip. 

Darion comes up beside you, gently putting a gloved hand on your back. “I...have never beheld anything like this.”

You lean into him, putting your head on his shoulder. His arm slides up to wrap around you, keeping you close. “She broke the world.” 

“Shattering the Helm also freed Bolvar Fordragon from the burden of being the Lich King, and he believes he knows where the Banshee has taken those she abducted. He awaits you at the Frozen Throne, and the remaining faction leaders have gathered with him.” 

You swallow. “Let’s go, then.” Stepping forward, you offer him your hand, and the two of you walk down the gangplank to the balcony of the citadel, and onto the transference portal. 

Everyone is talking to each other as you approach the crowd, Horde and Alliance together. Despite the brutal war that happened not even a year ago, they seem eager to co-operate. 

Well, some of them, anyway. 

“Coward! I would pay any price to see the Banshee impaled upon my glaive!” Tyrande is getting in Lor’themar Theron’s face, and to your surprise, it’s Greymane who pulls her back. 

“I, too, want Sylvanas to answer for her crimes. But Lor’themar is right. Anduin wouldn’t want us to risk the well-being of the Alliance for his sake.” 

The squabbling continues until a voice you don’t recognize echoes across the icy tower. “ENOUGH! The war is over. We can ill-afford to start another. A far more pressing threat is at hand, and we must prepare to face it.” 

You turn. Standing with his back to the throne is a man, a tall man, his blackened skin cracked and bleeding unearthly flames across his face, his arms, and especially his chest. This must be Bolvar. You sort-of heard some rumors about what happened during the fall of Arthas, but considering you were unconscious at the end of the battle, you don’t really remember it all that well. He nods to you as you approach. 

“When the Banshee shattered the Helm, it tore a gaping wound through the veil between our world and the Shadowlands.” 

“Is that what I see up there? The Shadowlands?” you shiver, glancing up, then down at him. Looking up for too long makes you dizzy. 

His face looks pained. “That is where you must go, if you are to save those Sylvanas has taken.”

“Wait, you aren’t coming with us?” you frown, coming closer, and his glowing eyes look away, guilty. 

“I dare not travel with you. Even free of the Helm, I fear I would become bound to the will of its true Master. When the helm rested upon my head, it took all my will to keep its insidious power in check. Many times, I nearly faltered. I could sense a dark presence at the edge of my consciousness. Not Arthas... not Ner'zhul. Something... else. It is that very presence I sense lurking beyond the shattered sky above.”

“I see.” You raise your fingertips to touch his cracked face, and he blinks. Slowly, you trace the lines of the flames - they don’t burn you - over his head. Echoes through your memory of _dragon fire_ and _betrayal_ and the screaming, more screaming, until the screaming stopped. “It looks so painful. Does it still hurt?” 

“Yes,” Bolvar acknowledges, quietly. “And without the Helm to keep my temperature down, I fear one day I might-” 

You interrupt him with a kiss, gentle, to his lips. They’re cracked and oozing, offering little in terms of softness, but the fire doesn’t burn you. 

Bolvar pulls back. “What are you doing?” he asks, a little too quickly, a little hoarsely.

“For good luck.” You smile a little. “I mean, it’s _me_ we’re talking about here. Surely even _you_ know my reputation. If we had more time, we’d just have an orgy up here.” 

Bolvar cannot blush, but he looks embarrassed enough. “I...observed your work with Darion, through the connection of the Helm and all Death Knights. I know of your...strategies.” 

“You watched us, you pervert.” Teasing him with a big grin, coming back to kiss him again, and this time he continues, kissing back, and his tongue is blessedly as soft as any living human’s, his big hands coming up to cup the back of your head. His thumbs run up to the points of your ears, and you shiver, pressing against him. 

He presses back. “If we had more time…” he echoes your earlier sentiment, and his voice sounds wistful. “But there is no other course. Death comes to claim Azeroth, and it falls to you to defend her. The time has come. Take up the shattered helm, and we will open the rift.” 

It takes everything you’ve got to drag yourself away from his arms, and to the floating pieces of the helm in the ritual circle. Each piece seems to weigh a thousand pounds, and it takes you several long minutes to get them into their places. Once everything is ready, you stand in the centre, and the rift begins to open. 

Just as you’re about to say your final good-byes, Tyrande jumps into the ring. “Rescue the others! The Banshee is mine to kill!” 

Everyone attempts to converge on her and pull her out, but it’s too late, and with a _snap_ , the world is swallowed up by an endless void as you hear Genn’s voice echo into nothingness. 

“ _We cannot lose you...to the darkness_ …” 


	2. THE MAW

Something soft cushions your fall. 

Makes an awful _crunching_ sound, though. 

“You made it through the rift. Good. I doubt this mission could succeed without you.” Darion’s sardonic tone cuts through the gloom as he extends you a hand and pulls you up to your feet again. 

“Is Tyrande around?” You take a quick glance. Rocky outcroppings and twisted sky. Reminds you of Argus. You try to summon your favourite hawkstrider for comfort, but the spell doesn’t reach past the length of your arm, falling to dust in the air. 

You’re truly alone here, with the dead. 

“No sign yet of the High Priestess. Perhaps she charged ahead into the chaos.” he glances over his shoulder. 

Below you on the ridge are Death Knights, fighting...something. Various undead creatures you suppose. “We should get moving.” 

You both pick your way over the rocks and begin to fight your way through the mess. Along the way, you help in the battle and take down enemy forces, finding them covered in strange garb and even stranger hides. 

A woman in saronite plate lies in a crumpled heap. You turn her face up and she wheezes at you through cracking teeth, but it’s too late to save her. The only comfort you can offer is a promise to slay her killer. Her soul probably doesn’t have to go too far, either. It’s a thought that leaves you queasy as you stand and hurry across a nearby bridge with Darion, quite a few Knights already tackling the Ruiner. 

“Let’s get moving - before reinforcements arrive,” Darion shakes his head as everyone moves on after it’s been downed. “Keep an eye out for clues that point to the whereabouts of our allies.” 

Trying to find kidnapped faction leaders down here? Needle in a haystack, and you without a magnet. Still, you’re likely to find evidence of a caster more easily, so you start looking for ice in this hellscape. 

Darion spots it first. “Frost magic. Looks like the work of our friend the Lord Admiral.” 

“Yeah, that’s Jaina’s style alright.” You give it a poke. It cracks and shatters like glass, splintering on the ground. “Ooh, spicy.” 

“The conflict seems to move in this direction.” Darion gestures over to his left, “We should follow the trail before it goes…” he pauses, and almost groans the last word, “ _cold_.” 

You giggle your head off and Darion grumbles, his plate clanking as he stomps across the plains. “Look, a polymorph!” An oversized sheep is stumbling around, clearly out of place with the landscape. 

“More of Lady Proudmoore’s handiwork. It would be...unwise...to break the enchantment. Let’s move along.” 

“No arguments here, man.” You spot some massive creature enveloped in unnatural flames. “Ugh, what the fuck is _that_ thing?” 

“The Lord Admiral is truly formidable, to have bested one of those monstrosities. Hold! What’s that up ahead?” 

“It’s Thrall!” You dash forward. “And Jaina! Hang on, help is on the way!” 

“Looks like we’ve secured the Lord Admiral. I’ll signal the Ebon Blade to advance,” you can hear Darion call from behind you as you scamper up the ridge to get to them. Jaina looks relieved, the lines of her face softening when they see you. Thrall is pale, a sickly vomit-green tone, under her hands. 

“He looks bad. But we’re exposed out here.” You shake your head, and Jaina nods, looking down at him again. 

“We can’t stay here. Can you walk?” 

“I...will manage. Thank you for coming to my aid, Jaina.” 

An angry, frightened shout breaks the scene. “Something’s flying at us from above!” 

“They’ve found us!” Jaina scrambles to her feet, leaving you to try and carry the wounded former Warchief. “Be ready!” 

“Struggle all you like, mortals! You cannot escape your fate!” 

Trying to stab, bob, and weave, while carrying two hundred pounds of Orc on your shoulder is not helping. “Lady Proudmoore, I can’t protect him like this!” 

“Hold for a second, then!” she shouts, and before you know what’s happening, you’re under a ridge forty feet away. “I left some mirror images behind to keep them distracted, but the illusion won’t hold for long. Hurry!” 

Everyone starts to run, and Thrall manages to walk mostly on his own, allowing you to draw your weapons more effectively. While Jaina talks about a cave down the road, Thrall shakes his head. “Our captors will not be pleased you’ve managed to slip past them again.” 

“Excuse me? What do you mean, ‘again’?” you demand, but before he can continue, you’re attacked again. “Ugh, they’re worse than harpies!” Slashing away, you manage to cut into the backs of some of these deformed winged creatures, using your poisons to great advantage. You grab a handful of feathers and shove them in your bag along with the few coins that spill out, as you follow Darion down into the cave. 

“Explain. _Now_.” 

“I’ve broken free countless times, only to end up back in a cage.” Jaina shakes her head. “I’ve hidden inside this cave before. We can’t stay long, but it should buy us a little time.” 

“Lord Admiral, before we found you, did you see any sign of the Night Warrior?” Darion inquires. You blink, having completely forgotten. In your rush to save the people in front of you, you realize you haven’t seen her at all.

“Tyrande? Here? No.” 

“She jumped in, head-first. Said something about killing Sylvanas. I don’t think we’ll find her until she completes her mission.” You grimace. 

“That is troubling. An ancient ritual infused her with incredible power. I fear it may be growing beyond her ability to contain it.” Jaina points out the cave entrance, but the flapping of wings behind you gives you pause. 

“Your cell awaits, mage! The Jailer has plans for you!”

Jaina turns, yelling with all her might, “I've had enough of your cages, fiend!” and sends a bolt of frost magic straight at it. It dodges quickly. 

“There is nowhere to run! Nothing escapes the Maw! These allies of yours are insignificant. You will all end up in chains!”

“Not if we end you first!” Darion threatens, and it charges at him. While it fights him head-on, you use your skills to fade into the shadows, sneak up behind it, and pull your garroting wire across its throat. 

It thrashes for a moment, then drops to its knees with a gurgle. You take a step to the side and Darion cleaves its head from its shoulders. The whole thing collapses in a heap of feathers and ash. 

“Disgusting.” you kick at it a little with your boot, before Darion hauls you down into the cave, with Jaina taking the lead. 

“When you first arrived, I wasn't sure if you were even real... or if you were just another illusion meant to torment us.” 

“They’ve been torturing you.” Of course they have. Why wouldn’t they? This place is one of hellish torment. 

Some of the Knights have built a campfire in the cave, and everyone settles at it for some warmth. “Jaina, you need to tell us everything you know. I don’t see Baine or the High King with you, you must have been kept separately.” 

She nods in agreeance, and begins explaining. “Denizens call this realm "the Maw." From what I have gathered, it was intended as a prison for the most foul, irredeemable souls that ever existed.”

Thrall interjects. “Something has changed. Pure, noble souls are being held captive here as well. They cry out in torment.”

“Indeed. And one of their tormentors--and ours--is Sylvanas Windrunner. It seems she has made a powerful ally. The shades whisper of someone called... the Jailer.”

“That sounds ominous.” 

“The Jailer rules this realm. We know little about him, but it's clear he has taken a special interest in us. He has personally overseen our... treatment here.”

“You mean your torture sessions.” 

Thrall shudders. “We have endured countless torments. At times, it felt as if we were being tested. Though for what purpose, I cannot say.”

“Whatever this Jailer and the Banshee are planning, it won't end well... for any of us.” Jaina adds softly. 

“Okay, so that makes it simple enough.” You spread your hands. Everyone turns and stares at you. “We just have to kill Sylvanas. And then this Jailor. Easy as one-two-three.” 

“Forgive me, but...who even _are_ you?” Thrall frowns. Half the room immediately looks away again, and when he spots Jaina blushing, scowls deeper. “Some torturer!?” 

“I’m good with torture, but no. You’ve been in Outland too long, man. I guess you don’t know my reputation.” You grin, chin on your knees, cheeky. “I’m Azeroth’s most famous slut, using my sexy powers to heal and restore our broken little world. But I guess I’m just another soul down here.” 

“Jaina? You…?” 

Jaina quickly begins talking again, not meeting his eyes, though the smile on her lips reassures you she’s not ashamed. “I caught glimpses of Baine and Anduin during my attempts to break free. They live... that's all I know for certain. But I have found no means of leaving the Maw. I can only manage to teleport short distances. This nightmare feels... inescapable.” her shoulders sag. 

Darion pauses. “Countless souls are now pouring into this realm. But some have been here for untold ages. Perhaps one of them knows a way out.”

Looking dubious, Jaina continues. “I can scarcely imagine the horrors such spirits have endured. I fear there's nothing left of them to save. They manifest as malevolent shades that wander the darkness. I doubt they'd willingly help us.”

Even with his helm on, Darion looks dark. “We have ways of making them talk.” 

One quick conversation later and you’ve got what’s left of the Helm of Domination in your hands, following Darion outside to try and tame a tormented soul. Even though he hacks and slashes away, your attempts fail until he spots a massive amalgamation of souls. “That one should work. Now! Bend it to your will!” 

A thousand voices scream at once, easing into a sigh. “You cannot bind me! I... will...obey…” 

“Come on, let’s go.” Darion grabs the Helm from your hands and starts back down into the cave. You quickly follow, but let him be, instead returning to Proudmoore and Thrall at the campfire. 

“I’ll just let him work on that for a while.” you glance over. The voices are screaming again, but hushed under the magic of the Helm. 

“Don’t have the stomach for torture?” Thrall inquires. You scoff. 

“I’m a rogue. _Most_ of my work is torture.” You pick up a stone and put it on the edge of the fire, letting one side be licked by the flames. “I just don’t know how to torment something that isn’t afflicted by the Curse of Flesh.” It’s said in a lighthearted, joking tone, but Thrall still looks troubled. Glancing over at Jaina, you push again. “My Lady. The High King?” 

She lets out a breath, eyes down, thinking. “Anduin is being kept in a place called the Tremaculum. I’ve tried to rescue him before, but failed. With some extra firepower, we may be able to get him this time.” 

“ _Fire_ power, eh?” 

She touches her face lightly at her own unintended pun, but Thrall roars with laughter at your side. “We might agree on something after all, little elf. Come, I feel much recovered after food and drink. We should try to find the human king.” 

“Once we find Anduin, my staff will serve as an anchor for me to teleport us back to safety,” Jaina lodges it in several rocks, keeping it upright until it’s steady. “All set. Let’s get moving.” 

Outside, you glance up at the sky. Everything seems to be red-brown, with shifting clouds. There is no suns, no moons, and no stars to tell time, and you don’t know how long it’s been since you arrived. Things are no clearer once Thrall announces you’ve arrived at the Tremaculum, and you pick your way up the stairs and on to a teleporter pad, sending you hurtling into an upper platform. “Wait. Is that -” 

“SHHH!” Jaina grabs you and bodily drags you behind a set of cages. It’s piss-poor in terms of a hiding place, and you cast a net of shadows over the group. Anduin’s voice, unforgettable, rings through the gloom. 

“You won’t...succeed…” 

Sylvanas, cold and clipped. “Such a narrow vision. You disappoint me. No matter. We will find what we seek.. in another.” 

It seems they’re at the end of a torture session. Waiting until she departs before you break the shadow spell, the three of you rush to the young king’s side. 

“Anduin! How badly are you hurt?” 

“I...will live. I’m relieved you’re all safe. Wait - is that-” his eyes light up a little when he sees you, and you drop to your knees before him, gently taking his cheeks in your hands. 

“Yeah, it’s me.” You grin, and then hug him, and he strains, his arms trying to hug you back. He’s still chained between two massive pillars, though, and Thrall grunts. 

“These bonds are too strong to break by force. We must find a way to free him.” 

“Locks need keys. I’m good at lock-picking. That’s kind of my second-best thing.” you begin inspecting his wrist-shackles. 

“But the locks here are so strong!” Jaina murmurs, touching a pillar. 

“Jaina, I love you, but please, stick to magic.” You mutter, pulling a lock-pick out of your bag and getting Anduin’s gloves off before working the little hinges of the lock open. One pops free and Anduin hisses, shaking his free hand and rubbing it against his cheek. 

“I’ve had a terrible itch,” he jokes poorly, and you laugh before resuming work on the other wrist.

“See? No keys needed when you’ve got a rogue with you.” You finish with a flourish, and he rises to his feet, rubbing his wrists. Anduin smiles and takes the opportunity to hug you tightly before turning to pick up his gloves, putting them back on. 

“Thank you so much. I feared I would never be free of those shackles.” 

“We should move quickly.” Jaina pauses. “Are you fit to travel?”

Anduin snorts. “I will be fine once this place is behind us. Lead on.”

“My ability to teleport is limited here, but I should be able to open a portal back to my staff's location.” She casts quickly, and the portal opens. Once more you step through, already thinking about a way home.


	3. Chapter 3

“Thrall! Oh no, oh no-” 

You can see the mild chaos inside the cavern when you return, the portal closing behind you. Jaina is crouched beside the former warchief as Anduin drops to his knees, his hands going to Thrall’s side. “These wounds look serious. Let me tend them.” 

Before you can sink into the campfire’s warmth, Darion cuts everyone off. “Your arrival is timely. Our _friend_ here has something to share.” he makes a motion, like yanking the end of an invisible chain, and the _thing_ in the corner shudders. “Speak! How do we leave this place?” 

“Futile! The path...sealed...long ago…” 

“So there _is_ a way out! Tell us where to find it!” Darion’s voice grows even more heated, angry. 

“Waystone...at the Cauldron...perhaps…” the thing wavers. “No! Dormant! Broken! Nothing...escapes...the Maw.” 

Darion _roars_ in frustration and fury, and the thing melts apart, tumbling into a million tiny pieces on the floor. You go to his side, your hands moving to his back. He’s trembling with rage, unable to stop shaking. “Could you make sense of what it said, Lord Admiral?” 

“The...Cauldron it spoke of, lies beyond the River of Souls. I believe Baine is being held captive there.” she raises her eyebrows, watching quietly. 

You slide your arms around Darion from behind, palms inward and up against his chest. The shakes begin to ease. “Then it seems our course is clear. But we cannot leave these innocent souls alone to their fate.” he puts a plate-gloved hand over yours. It’s so massive that it covers both of your palms. “Our remaining forces will remain on guard here. Signal us when you find this…’waystone’.” 

“You’re not coming with us.” it’s not a question, and his head drops a little, on to his chest. There’s a small _clank_ as plate meets plate. “Darion, you don’t have to sacrifice yourself for this.” 

“Until you free everyone and we find the Night Warrior, we have to stay anyway. And there’s still the matter of _why_ this all happened.”

“Darion, you are not personally responsible for Sylvanas’ actions. I don’t know if she thinks this will somehow change our world for the better, or if this is some last-minute mad power grab - or something in-between - but you do not stand alone here.” you glance around the cavern. “All right, everybody! Line up to give your CO a hug!” 

“I...what?” 

A few Death Knights in the cavern glance at each other, then back to you. You look up at Darion. “Oh, I should ask. You consent to being hugged, right?” 

“I...I suppose so? But why would-” 

A few nearby Knights start to make an orderly line, some even chuckling amongst themselves. You step back, and they come forward. Some clap him on the back in a firm hug, and some are too short to reach it, just giving him a squeeze around the legs. None of them are hugs of affection, but even the show of camaraderie seems to leave the right impression, and Darion’s mood is lifted a few minutes later as you come back to him, sliding a hand up to undo the buckle at the back of his helm. “We’re going to head out soon, and I don’t know when I’m going to see you again.” 

“You - uh - you want to do this here? Now? There isn’t exactly privacy -” 

Grinning, you push him lightly by his shoulders and he sinks to a seated position, and from there, you can take off his helm completely, resting it on your hip. Softly-glowing blue eyes blink up at you, in his cracked and pale face. Shaggy red hair - he’s cut it since the last time you saw him - frames it, and he offers up a half-smile, tugging at one corner of his lips before taking his own gloves off and undoing your belt. 

The goings-on in the cave don’t stop as he slides his cold fingers under the tops of your trousers and pulls down, but the noise fades to a background hum as he leans in and presses his lips to your lower belly, soft and reverent. They’re cold, as usual - as always - but still so, so soft, and his tongue joins the kisses after a moment. His nose presses into your skin, a deep inhale of air that he does not need, taking in your scent. He’s taking his time. 

He doesn’t usually take his time. 

Suddenly you’re fighting back tears in the corners of your eyes, stroking his hair as he gets your leather pants down over your hips and nuzzles the inside of your thigh, sucking in a bit of soft skin and rolling it between his teeth. It’s going to bruise, and that’s clearly his intention. You’ll be feeling that for a while, especially when you walk. It’s difficult to hold his helm and guide his head at the same time, so you let it drop to the cavern floor. Uncomfortably loud, it echoes in your ears as you feel his hair under both of your palms, and his tongue slips between your pussy lips. 

The feeling of cool-cold flesh against yours, slick and overheated, always makes you shudder. You watch him licking you open, suckling on your clit, your fingertips adding pressure to his head. Soft, wet noises float upwards to your ears, and you hook a leg over his shoulder to give him better access. He wraps his arm around your thigh, steadying you as he tilts his head back to properly eat you out, tongue digging deeper, his face smeared and shiny. 

Before you can finish, though, you force yourself to pull back, and he almost moves with you, making a soft, confused noise as he looks up. His glowing eyes are dazed, unfocused. You move down, unbuckling all the plate around his hips, managing to tug out his cock. He’s just as hard as you are wet, moaning brokenly in your ear as he puts his arms around you, clinging a little as you slide on to him, letting him fill you up. 

It’s cold and hard and good, and you grind on him, shivering at the hot feeling in your hips and thighs from pleasure. Stopping makes him sigh, clenching makes him whimper, and when you start to ride him faster, he grips your waist and pulls you back and forth. He grunts something and you put his face against your still-clothed breasts, and he huffs, coming up to kiss you instead. It’s hungry and desperate and makes your heart ache as you kiss him back, snuggling in to him as he picks up the pace and unexpectedly comes inside of you, sagging back. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I-”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” you try to soothe him, petting his face and trembling, and he awkwardly jams three fingers inside you and finishes you off. It’s a short, brutal orgasm, leaving you wet and shaky, physically satisfied but emotionally adrift. 

There’s a few precious, silent moments of just you and Darion Mograine together on the floor at the bottom of a Lightforsaken cave in the Maw, before someone comes up and gently puts their hand on your shoulder. 

It’s Anduin. “I’m sorry, but Jaina says we have to get moving again.” His voice is always so gentle, and there’s part of you that wonders if all humans had been as welcoming as him, all those wars might never have happened. 

Another day, another time. You rise to your feet, and Darion helps both of you re-dress. You kiss him good-bye once, twice, and then follow Thrall and Jaina up out of the cavern. 

“You’re troubled, Thrall. What is it?” Jaina asks, as you make your way across the cracked ground and towards the bridge over the River of Souls. 

“Still no sign of Tyrande. We cannot leave her alone in this nightmare.” 

“Agreed. But we have no idea how to find her. We will do our best, but this waystone may be our only means of escape. Still...if there’s a way _out_ of the Maw, then there has to be a way back _in_. We will return for her.” 

“She won’t leave until Sylvanas is dead. Uh. Again. Or whatever. So trying to get her before that is kind of pointless,” you remind him, and Thrall nods as you all start to cross the bridge. 

“Hold. I hear something stirring…” 

Wait. _Wait._ Is that - 

“Helya!” 

“Your wretched souls will feed the coming darkness!” 

“No way, we kicked your ass last time and I’m ready to do it again!” 

“You will pay for that insult! The skies of your world will be darkened by the wings of my Mawsworn!” 

_Mawsworn_. The proper name for those flying humanoid monsters? “Helya, where-”

“FOR AZEROTH!” 

“THRALL, NO!” 

Several things happen in quick succession. Thrall hefts his enormous axe and _launches_ it over the side of the bridge, straight into Helya’s forehead. Her rage erupts like a furnace, and everyone is swept off of the bridge and into the ‘river’ as she screeches. “DROWN! Drown among the souls of the damned!” 

Your first thought upon hitting the ground ( _hard_ ) is that you’re not going to down, because this river doesn’t have any water. Then you’re flooded with _screaming_. Screams of tormented, desperate souls, terrified and swept away in an instant again. Above those, though, you can hear - and see - your group struggling towards the opposite bank, and you run towards them through the stream of the damned. 

“Look! On the precipice above! Is that -” 

“The Jailer.” 

“HE HAS BAINE!” Anduin yells, and both of you bolt towards the cliff, just as the Jailor lets him drop. Thrall manages to break his fall, and you quickly help lay him out. “His wounds are mending, but his spirit remains weakened. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Anduin admits, as he struggles to fix the Horde leader. 

“I believe I have.” Thrall remarks quietly. “In a place very far from here…” 

“The Shadowmoon clan?” you hazard a guess, and he nods. 

“The only cure is to find the object that poisoned his spirit, and shatter it. Come, champion. We shall go find it. It can’t be far, to be this strong. And I am in need of a new weapon.” 

“Okay, but let’s move quickly. You’re the muscle around here, so you can’t afford to go wandering off.” you warn him, as you begin to pick your way through the gloom. As you strike enemies, though, you find yourself working alone. “THRALL!” 

“Hold on, I’m trying to find a proper weapon.” 

“Just grab something!” You slip into the shadows and stun an encroaching monster, going back to kill the first one. Unfortunately, it’s up to you and you alone, as you sit on something’s back and cut its head off, watching Thrall toss weapon after weapon aside, finally settling on another axe. “By the Light, Thrall, you are _picky_.” 

“This is a proper warrior’s weapon! If the Jailer comes, he will taste my steel!” he says proudly, holding the axe aloft. 

“Uh huh. Anyway I think I found it.” you fish the dagger out of the pocket of the soldier you killed. “While you were...otherwise occupied.” 

Thrall at least has the decency to look sheepish as he jogs over and inspects it. “This must be it. Baine’s blood still stains its blade.” 

“Then we should head back.” 

The ritual to release him is a real fight, and you’re suddenly glad Thrall was so picky with his choice of weapon. You’re good at picking your enemies off one by one, but this requires all of you to fend off, and Anduin finally gets him conscious again. 

“Baine? Can you hear me?” 

“Anduin? I thought my end had come…” 

“It almost did, if Thrall had taken a minute longer to pick a weapon.” you give him side-eye, and Thrall shrugs. 

“I wish we had more time for you to recover, but we need to move,” Jaina urges, and everyone manages to help get the massive Tauren chieftain standing upright. 

“Understood. Lead the way.” 

You sneak past the bulk of the Jailer’s forces up the hill, everyone quietly remarking on the seemingly-infinite amount of souls pouring into the Maw to be tortured for all eternity. It’s pretty bleak, but you have to keep moving. Atop the hill is a crumbling old stone, but it hums to life - even lighting up - as you approach. 

“The waystone was said to be dormant, yet it seems to be reacting to our presence.” 

“Not _ours_.” Jaina gently puts her hand on it, noticing the way it moves. “I think it’s responding to _you,_ specifically.” she glances over at you, and you raise your hands. 

“I’m not fucking that thing, regardless of my reputation.” 

Even Baine chuckles, and you take a breath and place both your hands on it. The hum grows louder, the light brighter. It’s vibrating under your touch. “It seems to be feeding off my energy, I think it’s building up a charge.” 

“A charge for what?” 

“Maybe to beam us out of here? Hopefully to beam us out of here.” 

**_A RELIC OF THE FIRST ONES...RESPONDING TO A MORTAL? IMPOSSIBLE. MAWSWORN. TAKE THEM._ **

“Hold the line! We have to let it finish charging!” Jaina yells, turning to look for the source of the voice. It felt like a vibration in your bones, the Jailor’s tone impossibly low and loud. 

**_MY FORCES ARE VAST. ENDLESS._ **

“We have stopped ‘endless’ armies before,” Thrall shoots back, raising his axe at the oncoming waves. “We will never yield!” 

**_DEATH COMES FOR THE SOUL OF YOUR WORLD. ALL THAT YOU SEE. ALL THAT YOU KNOW. WILL BE. UN. DONE._ **

You step away to try and help them, but as soon as you stop touching it, the waystone goes silent and still, the sound dying instantly. “Shit. Shit, I can’t let go of it. If I stop, it stops too!” 

“You have to keep trying!” Jaina yells back, but in the moment’s distraction, massive chains shoot out of nowhere, capturing her as well as Thrall and Baine. Anduin is close enough to you on the steps that he wasn’t snagged immediately, and grabs your wrist, putting it back on the waystone. It bursts into brilliant life, glowing like the sun. 

**_NOTHING ESCAPES THE MAW. YIELD TO THE INEVITABLE._ **

“The Light is with us, even here.” Anduin whispers, meeting your eyes. You nod, and slam your other hand against the waystone. The charge is _electric_ , making your hair stand on end as Anduin summons a massive bubble-like shield, and everything goes _so bright_ you can’t see, and you have to close your eyes, and then -


	4. ORIBOS

You’re dizzy. _So_ dizzy. And everything hurts, like you’ve been pummeled non-stop for the last few minutes. Your limbs feel heavy, as through suffering from your own poisons, and you appear to be...on a giant, floating island in the sky? 

No, some sort of tower. Though it looks a _lot_ nicer than where you just were. 

“An agent of the Maw is attacking Oribos! Defend the Arbiter!”

“No, wait, I -” it’s hard to speak. Your tongue feels so heavy and your mouth isn’t moving the way it’s supposed to. 

“Hold. The Maw's power does linger upon them, but I sense... No, that cannot be possible!”

“I’m -” you can’t even pronounce your own name. “Help...me.” 

“We must bring them to the overseeers at once!”

“Come with us, stranger.” The taller one holds a moment, then picks you up around your middle and carries you on its hip inside an archway. It’s not exactly comfortable, but making your legs work is gonna take a few minutes of recalibration. As you head inside, you can hear voices, with strange metallic echoes, discussing what _seems_ to be your own arrival. 

As usual. 

“-Reports from our scryers were unmistakable. The Maw shuddered for a moment, as if reacting to some change.”

“An ill omen, to be certain. What can it mean?”

The one not carrying you snaps to attention and the one carrying you sets you down on the floor. You wobble, then decide to sit. It seems the safest thing to do right now. 

“Overseers! This stranger appeared at the city's edge. I believe them to be... a living mortal.”

“Hi!” you manage to lift your hand to about your shoulder, smiling tiredly. 

“Another unexpected development. We will see to their reception.” 

The two figures float towards you, darting around like curious birds. “Are you really a living mortal?” 

“Last time I checked, I was.” 

“Is it true - that you really escaped the Maw?” 

“Am I in the Maw now?” 

“No, This is the Eternal city of Oribos, and I am Overseer Kah-Delen, one of the attendants of the Arbiter.” 

“So. I _was_ in the Maw, and now I’m _not_ in the Maw. I guess I really did escape!” you flop down on your back, grinning and starfishing out. Kah-Delen’s helm appears in your field of vision. 

“What are you doing down there?” 

“I’m tired. Being brought here knocked the wind out of me. Can you give me a minute to recover?” 

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for that.” There is a pause. “Oribos is at the heart of the Shadowlands, what most mortals would refer to as an “after-life”. The fact that you are here while still alive, is important.”

The other one seems upset. “Every attendant in Oribos is taught that the Maw is unbreachable. That the malevolent souls within were sealed away for all eternity.”

“This mortal's escape might mean the prison is weakening. If true, the Banished One could…”

Someone else bursts into the room, and for an ethereal being, they sure do seem out of breath. “Kah-Delen! Kah-Sher! Purpose be praised! At long last, the Arbiter has stirred!”

“Wondrous news, Honored Voice! Mere moments ago, there was a disturbance at the boundary of the Maw. Then this mortal appeared, claiming to have broken free of it.”

“Yo.” you give the newcomer a set of finger-guns. They tilt their head at you like a curious puppy, then clap their hands with joy. 

“A living mortal! Surely their presence here serves the Purpose. If the Arbiter reacted to their arrival, perhaps they are the key to waking her.”

The angry one bristles. “Is this mortal worthy of such an audience? They may prove to be an agent of the Jailer!”

“It is the Arbiter's place to judge souls, Kah-Sher, not ours. I will bring this mortal before her. With her voice have I spoken.”

Immediately the two other floating Overseers echo back “Blessed be her Voice.” Clearly it’s some form of praise, like when priests and paladins say “Light be with you.” You make a mental note of this to say it next time. 

At this point, you’re able to get to your feet, though it’s a bit of a struggle to walk. Your strength is coming back slowly, and you grab a snack from your bag, shoving it into your mouth as you follow the Honored Voice. “My name is -”

“If the Arbiter were conscious, she would know who you are.” The Voice says sadly as she floats along beside you. “I am Tal-Inara. The role of the Arbiter is to-”

“Arbitrate?” 

“-Judge all mortal souls that pass through the veil into shadow. When your come to us for your final rest, the Arbiter finds a safe-home for all. It would be...easier to show you. Please, take my hands.” 

You put your hands in hers. Her gloved digits are cool as they close around yours, and in a flash, you are both teleported to an outdoor chamber where an automaton-like, angelic-looking creature floats, slumped over. 

“Go on!” Tal-Inara seems excited, and you take a few cautious steps, then reach up to touch the hem of the figure’s robe. It doesn’t so much as twitch, and the gravity of the situation suddenly hits you like a ton of bricks. 

“Without the Arbiter’s judgement, every soul is pouring into the Maw.” you turn back to Tal-Inara, reporting what you had seen. Even without knowing the whole story, you can put two and two together. “How long has she been like this? What happened?”

“We do not know.” Tal-Inara clasps her hands together, wringing them a little. “The Arbiter was - is - capable of experiencing an entire soul’s lifetime instantly, and with this knowledge, she consigned every soul to the afterlife it justly deserved. One of love and service to others. One of the celebration of victory. One of peaceful slumber. Perhaps even one of redemption. Or one of millions upon millions of others, too numerous to name.” she shakes her head. “Until...in that dread moment, perfect order was shattered. And so it is that you say - every soul, kind and cruel alike, is denied its rightful afterlife. And instead is damned to the inescapable torment of the Maw.” 

You manage to walk over and give her a hug, for what it’s worth. She seems startled by the physical interaction, but welcomes it, wrapping her arms around you. “The strongest souls have the most Anima, the life-force on which the Shadowlands depend to function. Without it, drought has gripped all the realms. The afterlives have grown isolated, and with countless souls feeding the Jailer, I fear he may grow strong enough to break free from the Maw.” 

“Well, I’ve saved worlds before. Maybe that’s what I’m here to do now.” 

Tal-Inara seems pleased with your response. “Let us return to the lower levels. The Overseers will prepare you for what is to come.” 

One more quick teleportation and the two of you are back on the main level. It’s shaped like a ring, going all the way around a stream of power. Kah-Delen floats up to you. 

“We should create a tether to your home-world,” she urges. “Do you have anything with a strong connection to it?” 

“I mean, my bag is full of stuff…” you open it and she takes a look, shaking her head. 

“No, it has to have an innate connection.” She brings you over to a table. “This was created by the First Ones, long ago. It is a map of the heart of the Shadowlands. We are here.” she points to a tower-like structure in the centre of four floating islands. 

“Hang on. I think I may have something after all.” You open the hidden pouch at your thigh and carefully slide out the sharp fragment of the Helm of Domination. Kah-Delen goes very, very still, and silent. “Will this do?” 

“How did you _get_ th- oh, it’ll have to do. Place it above the map.” 

You lean over, and as though the air is magnetic, it holds the piece of armor above the table like a floating ghost. From behind you, you hear crackling, and turn to spot the unmistakable colours of a Death Gate opening in the middle of the hall. Kah-Delen grabs you by the arm, but you just pat hers reassuringly as Bolvar comes through, accompanied by a handful of Death Knights. 

“ _More_ outsiders?! What have you done, mortal?” Kah-Sher demands, from his position - a little further down the hall. Seems he was spooked as well. 

“Be at ease. I am Bolvar Fordragon. These knights and I are here to help.” 

“The touch of the Maw is upon their souls as well…” Kah-Delen murmurs from beside you. “But if they found a way to break free of its influence, perhaps they can aid us.” 

“I know they will.” you grin, slipping out of her hold and down the steps. Bolvar meets you halfway, and sweeps you off your feet, making you laugh and throw your arms around his shoulders. “I knew you’d find us!” 

“I have been watching you.” Bolvar carries you back up the steps and sits you on the map table, looking around at it. He notes the sliver of helm fragment there. “This was enough to bring us through, but we’ll need to establish proper portals if we want to bring reinforcements.” 

Kah-Sher grumbles. “ _More_ of you? Oh dear. Oribos is crowded _enough_ with so many Brokers arriving every day.” 

“Now, now, Kah-Sher, be hospitable. Mortal, I suggest establishing your portals where you first arrived…” she pauses. “Just... _outside_ the city.” 

“Heh.”

“As you wish.” Bolvar attempts to bow, but it’s hard to do so with your arms over his shoulders and your legs around his waist. “Hmm?” 

“Hey. You _owe_ me. Remember? Back at the Citadel? You said, ‘if we had more time’...” you raise your eyebrows and his eyes widen. 

“Uh...here? Now? In front of all my soldiers? And these...uh, guardians?” 

“Oh, send them to establish the portals.” You wave at an orc, and she waves back, a little confused-looking. “Overseer Kah-Sher, why don’t you show them _exactly_ where to put the portals? That way you can control the flow…” 

He seems satisfied, and leads them out of the room as you smooth your fingertips over Bolvar’s cracked face. “I hear this table was created by the First Ones, eons ago. I don’t know if they treat it like a holy relic, but wanna help desecrate it with me?” 

“You are going to get us kicked out of the afterlife,” Bolvar grumbles, but kisses you, and kisses you _hungrily_. Despite any protests, he wants this. Pieces of plate armor go clattering to the floor, his weapon forgotten on the flagstones until he’s just in his boots, his pants down to his knees. His cock looks a little strange, but it’s dripping precum, not molten lava, and when you put it to your lips and drive him inside you, it just feels hot and solid and heavy. 

Bolvar presses his forehead against yours, moaning brokenly, grinding his hips against yours. His cock moves inside you, stirring, throbbing and pulsing. When he moves it’s incredible. His cock is more textured than a dragon’s, but nothing sharp to scratch you. 

“It has been so long…” he groans breathily into your ear, and you drag your nails down his back. He shouts, thrusting into you involuntarily, then growls, grabbing your hips and pulling you forward so he can fuck into you fast and hard and deep. It’s fantastic, making you squirm and writhe, hot ripples of pleasure from your pussy up your spine, fireworks in your brain, head tilting back - 

The curious helm of Kah-Delen is peering down at both of you, unmoving. “H-hi, c-can we help you?” you pant, and Bolvar stops fucking you for a moment, surprised. 

“This is sex, right?” Kah-Delen sounds practically breathless with excitement. “Mortals do it all the time, right? Please, continue! Don’t let me stop you! I’m just curious!” 

“You...don’t have sex?” 

“Bolvar, you can’t just ask people if they have sex or not. Look at her. She’s like an Ethereal. They don’t have corporeal form. Come on, let’s show her what it’s all about.” you dig your heels into his back and he looks down at you, before resuming his thrusts. You look up at Kah-Delen, and reach out a hand to her. She takes it, then lets her fingers trail down your arm, fascinated by your sweat. “It’s okay. You can touch me.” 

Bolvar chuckles, pushing you back against the table so you can stretch out more, showing off. He lifts one of your legs and starts pounding into you, and you writhe, heat building in your hips and belly. “Nghhh! Fuck, Bolvar!” 

A cool hand on your breast. Kah-Delen is squeezing your soft flesh in a manner that seems to indicate rapture, and Bolvar grabs your other one, putting his lips to your nipple and sucking. Your free hand digs into the back of his head with a moan, nails dragging along his charred flesh. He’s so much bigger than you, in every sense, and the way he moves just makes you feel so, so good. Kah-Delen’s fingers go to your nipple too, pinching and squeezing, tugging, rolling it between her gloved digits, and you can’t help but whimper. 

The slick drag of his cock is getting wetter and wetter, the noises getting louder. Through your haze you can see Kah-Delen moving around the table to inspect the source of the sound, her cool gloved fingers pulling back the edge of your pussy lips to see how Bolvar’s cock slides inside you. She is absolutely soundless, but you’re not - you’re so close to coming and before you can really think twice about it, you grab her by the wrist and bring her hand to your clit, rubbing furiously. She makes an excited noise, a happy little note, and you’re coming _hard_ , and she _keeps rubbing_ , and you’re squirting all over Bolvar’s stomach and chest. It’s dripping on to the table as you go limp, and Bolvar comes inside of you a moment later, grunting and growling, heat, too-hot, pumping deep inside you. 

“Heh...curiosity satisfied?” You drawl, as Bolvar pulls out. Kah-Delen _immediately_ moves to the space he was, and draws her gloved fingers through your messy pussy lips, pulling them open and drawing her thumb through the slickness. You can feel it leaking out of you, and she draws it out, letting it gather in her palms. 

“That was _fascinating_! Can you do it again?” her voice sounds eager and excited, but you shake your head and laugh, watching as Bolvar shakily attempts to re-dress. His knees keep wobbling. 

“Not right now.” you roll your head to look at her, smiling. “I just escaped the Maw _and_ got fucked within an inch of my life. I need a nap!”


	5. Chapter 5

Bolvar’s arms are warm as he carries you through Oribos to the inn. You vaguely notice when he lays you down on a cushioned bench and places a blanket over you, then waking up a few hours later to the sound of a harp being played. 

You roll over to one side and nearly fall off the narrow bench, quickly scrambling to stay on top. There’s the sound of laughter from across the room, but the harpist doesn’t stop playing. As your eyes clear of sleep, you can see that it’s some sort of ethereal being, but not like the Overseers. This one has a blue flame-like head, with a golden mask. Their clothes are brightly coloured and fancy, and appear to have long, flat metal lower legs, ending in pointed tips. 

“Ah!” they say in a pleasant, warm voice. “You are awake!” 

“Yeah.” you sit up, stretching slowly. “Your playing is really nice.” 

“Why thank you.” The artisan doesn’t stop. “I do not know where your companion is, you have been there for a while. However, one of the Overseers was in here during the last song. I believe they are looking for you.” 

“Ah, I’ll go check in.” You bundle everything up, then pause, turning to the musician. “This is going to sound weird, but, do you accept, uh, mortal currencies?” 

“Tips are most appreciated,” the artisan replies happily, nodding. You pull out some coin and offer. They observe, then nod towards the bench and you deposit it there before heading out. There are others wandering in and out of the inn, looking very similar to the harpist. They appear to be walking on tip-toe, the way an elegant dancer might, and the soft _tap-tap-tap_ of metal-on-metal is surprisingly soothing. They’ve got different colour schemes, but are wearing the same style of clothing. Or perhaps it’s some sort of container for their internal flames. Either way, it’s very striking. 

On your way back to the war map, you poke your head into various halls. All of them are full of these ethereal beings, buying and selling things to the Death Knights who appear to be having a surprisingly good time. One of them is attempting to stay on top of a writing ether-wyrm while her companions cheer her on and the ethereals appear to be...taking bets? You shake your head and grin before heading off again. 

You can hear Bolvar speaking before you see him, his voice echoing in the large chambers. “...And when she sundered the helm, the sky above the citadel shattered. The spire of an immense tower appeared beyond the veil.”

“If the Maw's influence bleeds into your realm, the balance between Life and Death will be broken. All you hold dear will be consumed in darkness.” It’s the Voice, from before. Tal-somebody? You hurry in, straightening your cloak. 

“Ah, there you are. Perfect timing.” Bolvar gestures for you to come right up. “Tal-Inara has some questions for us.” 

_That’s the name_. “How can I be of assistance?” 

“You entered the Maw on your own power, yes?” 

“Well, through the power of the Helm. But the others - our leaders - were kidnapped by tall, skeletal beings with wings and chains.” 

“How strange. The Kyrian of Bastion fit the criteria of both being winged and able to ferry souls from the mortal realms to the Shadowlands, but they are noble beings. They would never use chains. And they are certainly not skeletons.” 

You shake your head. “I’m sorry, but I know what we saw. The reports were very specific. Plus, those are the same creatures we saw in the Maw. They even spoke to us. Threatened, taunting - basically torturing our people.” 

Kah-Delen floats forward a little. “It would seem this is the only clue our mortal friend has to follow. It falls to us to open the way for them.” 

“Agreed. Overseer Kah-Sher, take this mortal to the Ring of Transference. Use our anima reserves to open a pathway to Bastion.”

A noise of protest. “But Honored Voice, we have so little anima in our reserves! Surely we should be more-”

“See it done, Kah-Sher. With her voice have I spoken.”

“Blessed be her Voice,” you immediately blurt out, before the Overseers can, and everyone - including Tal-Inara - turns to look at you. “What? Am I not allowed to say that?” 

“Just...was not expecting that.” Tal-Inara’s voice sounds pleased, though, and Kah-Sher, still grumbling, leads you out of the hall. Bolvar remains to speak with the other Overseers. 

“We have precious little anima to spare.” Kah-Sher complains. “But the Honored Voice has blessed your mission, so we will use what we have.”

“I want you to know, I _am_ grateful for your help. And I won’t squander these gifts I’ve been given,” you try and mend fences a little, but Kah-Sher is having none of it. He merely gestures for you to step onto a transference pad, and then both of you are whisked away to an upper level. This is mostly open, allowing you to see into the vastness of the Shadowlands, filled mostly with white, fluffy clouds and blue skies. To be honest, it’s a nice view, but you don’t want to look down too much. The column of souls streaming into the Maw isn’t a pleasant one. 

“We will call down one of the soul conduits for use as a gateway to Bastion. These paths have been dormant for some time. Your arrival will be... unexpected.”

“I can take care of myself. Don’t you worry about me.” 

A taller, floating being nods, bowing as you arrive. “Welcome, Kah-Sher. Is it true? Are we to open the gate again?”

“Yes, we are sending this Maw-walker through.” 

_Maw-walker_. Sounds ominous, but apparently, that’s just you. 

“Ah. You will want to find the Kyrian of Bastion and tell them you wish to speak with the Archon. Like our Arbiter, the Archon is an Eternal One who rules over the Shadowlands.”

“The Archon. Okay. Anything else I should know about Bastion before I get there?” 

Silence. Well, that’s helpful. Instead, you go over to a strangely-shaped sword-like object at the gesture of the Overseers, and help activate the gateway. Anima swirls around you, and then into the oval-shaped frame. It flickers, then begins to illuminate, glowing a bright blue. 

“You will need this.” the taller being gestures, and an ethereal-looking wyrm in golden armor appears out of the, well, ether. “She will ferry you between the realms safely.” 

“Woah, girl.” you pat her golden, pointy snout. A soft snort, and she playfully swirls around you, then settles so you can mount up. “Alright. To Bastion we go!” 

The ride is surprisingly smooth, considering you’re flying through an empty void of nothingness, just on the stream of anima connecting a series of portals. The wyrm bears you easily through the sky, then through a terrifying dimensional tunnel, and finally out into the sky once more, and you’re looking down on a small, floating island with silver-gold pastures and rocky outcroppings. More gateway-like structures hang in the sky, and the wyrm gently touches down at the edge of a constructed half-bridge. 

A young woman, blue-skinned and softly-shaped, seems to be startled out of her daydream when you slip off the wyrm. It nuzzles you, then flies off again. 

“By the Archon...the way is open?” the blue woman exclaims, staggering to her feet and sprinting towards you, huffing a bit, attempting to stand up straight and be formal. “It is my pleasure to welcome to you to Bastion! Though…” she pauses. “You are like no soul I have seen before. No matter! You are to become one of the Kyrian! It is our sacred charge to bring mortal souls before the Arbiter for judgement.” she seems happy and excited, grabbing your hand and marching off with you before you can explain what happened. “Oh, it has been an _age_ since we last welcomed a new arrival! The Greeter will tell you more!....uh, as soon as we awaken it.” 

Amused, you decide to keep your mouth shut for now and play along, to see what you can learn. Both of you are grinning for entirely different reasons when you reach an enormous, silent construct. “Because of the anima drought, we’ve kept it inactive,” the blue woman apologizes. “Um...can you help me get it started again?” 

“Of course. Tell me what you need.” 

“We need to infuse it with anima from the nearby centurions. Sika can help you. Sika, can we spare any anima for the Greeter?” 

A little owl-like being scoots up to both of you, holding up a glowing blue and gold object. “Yes! Take my barrel. Centurions will share!” She chirrups, in a bright and cheery voice. 

“Here, let me take that.” You pick up the barrel and heft it. “This wasn’t too heavy for you, little one?” 

“Sika strong!” The little owl flexes. “All stewards strong!” 

“Stewards, hmm? Interesting.” You go around to the nearby constructs and have the other owl-beings help you fill the barrel with the needed anima, then return to Sika, who helps you load it into the Greeter, which whirrs to life. 

“Gr-Gr-Gr-Greetings and congr-gr-gr-gratulations! You have been selected for Bastion, and I will provide you with the necessary information you need to begin your journey. From which world, system, entity, realm, or form of existence do you originate?” 

“Sorry, I think this has all been a huge misunderstanding…” you wince. You can’t keep up the lie forever, not when questioned with specifics. 

“We understand that the end of a mortal's existence can feel abrupt, and is sometimes difficult to accept. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to question the nature of your new existence.” The Greeter intones warmly. “Please take this opportunity to process these facts and find acceptance. When you have done so, we will continue your orientation.”

“I...don’t think I’ve made myself clear. I’m not dead.” 

“I do not understand. From which world, system, entity, realm, or form of existence do you originate?”

You sigh. “I’m from Azeroth.”

The Greeter whirrs again, accepting the input. “Gr-Gr-Gr-Greetings, denizen of Azeroth! We have prepared a number of activities to help you acclimate to your new existence. Please visit each station to learn more.” 

The blue woman happily dashes off. “I must prepare my station!! I will meet you there!!” 

Aww, that’s adorable. She’s so excited. Almost makes you sad that you’re gonna disappoint her. You head off towards the nearest station, and sit down on a bench. An image of the Greeter appears and begins to deliver a short, welcoming lecture. 

“Welcome, new aspirants, to the first step in your journey through Bastion! While you venture among us, we will teach you the virtues of Purity, Courage, Humility, Wisdom, and Loyalty. You will cleanse yourself of your mortal flaws and ascend to a higher state of being, capable of performing our most sacred and difficult task. We have much to teach you, but have no fear! Your journey is your own, and you may walk the path at your own pace.”

Huh, sounds decent enough. Maybe you’ll come back here when you _actually_ die. Sounds like it could keep you busy for all eternity, and you’ve always enjoyed helping other people when you can. The image of the Greeter fades away after it finishes, and you head over to the blue woman’s station next. 

“By the way, I never got your name.” You smile at her. 

“I’m Kleia!” She beams at you. “Please, step into the pool for a ritual cleansing. Passing through the veil of death can be traumatic. Allow us to cleanse the pain of that ordeal.” 

“Very well. Care to join me?” You playfully beckon, and Kleia blinks, then flushes a deeper blue. 

“Th-this is about you, fellow aspirant, um, not me. I’ve already had my turn.” 

“Oh well.” You begin unbuckling your pauldrons and Kleia squeaks as you start pulling up your shirt. 

“Wh-what are you doing!?” 

“Uh, I’m not bringing all my clothes into your ritual bath.” You blink at her, then pull your shirt off completely, dumping it into a pile on the ground next to your outer armor. “I don’t want to walk around in wet leathers for the rest of the day.” 

“O-oh. Um. Well, i-if that’s what you prefer!” Kleia indicates for you to continue, and you finish stripping down, stepping into the pool. The water doesn’t really feel like water, and maybe it wouldn’t have gotten you soaked. Still, the fact that Kleia is trying to watch you while trying her best _not_ to watch you, is both amusing and gratifying. 

“You sure you don’t want to join me in here?” You reach out a hand, and Kleia vehemently shakes her head, gripping her robe’s skirt. Her knuckles are white against her bright blue skin. 

“You are a _dreadful_ tease, but I must not. It is my duty to oversee, not to - what is THAT!?” she gasps, looking behind you, and you turn, awkwardly stumbling, suddenly wishing you’d brought a weapon into the pool. Luckily for both of you, it’s merely a projection, not an actual enemy. One of those terrifying winged skeletons from the Maw flaps a few times, then vanishes again. “It looks like a Kyrian, but it is...twisted. Carry on, take your time - I need to - I need to - I will meet you near the Greeter.” Kleia runs off in the opposite direction, clearly alarmed by the apparition. 

When you step out of the water, your skin feels dry - no, not dry. Smooth and refreshed, as though you had spent some time rubbing it with lotion. You pull on your clothes and head for the next station. Kleia is nowhere to be found as you approach some shelves with scrolls and tomes. The image of the Greeter returns, explaining what you see as being records of your deeds, archived for all time. “The Archives compile the history of countless mortal worlds as seen through the eyes of aspirants like yourself.” 

“Oh man, that’s gonna be a fun library book,” you bite your lip and grin as you move on to the last station. It’s a giant...bell? 

“The vespers of Bastion are no ordinary instruments. Their voices bolster the spirit and draw forth the lingering burdens of one's former life.” the Greeter has appeared again while you weren’t looking. You reach out and ring the vesper, and it seems pleased, vanishing once more. 

The real Greeter is standing tall next to Kleia by the time you make it fully back around the ring, and she smiles, but it falters, and she chews the inside of her cheek. “You’re not...dead, I think you said, you’re no ordinary soul. You don’t really belong here.” 

“No, I don’t.” You reach out, and touch her cheek, and she permits it. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying my stay.” 

She blushes again, drawing closer to you. “And how long will you be staying?” She presses her soft body up against yours. 

“Hmm, dunno. How long have you got?” You tease, and kiss her. Her lips are _so_ soft, and she wraps her arms around the back of your head and neck, leaning into you. You trail a hand up her side, following the curves of her form, and she shivers as you cup her breast from her side, squeezing just a little. You keep massaging her, your other hand sliding to the front of her robes, pushing up under her skirts. She eagerly parts her legs, whimpering into your mouth- 

“WHAT is the meaning of this?” A booming voice shouts from behind you, and Kleia nearly bites through your tongue as both of you spring apart, panting and trying to straighten your clothing. 

“She must have sensed that I enabled the Greeter. I will handle this, mortal.” She clears her throat, smoothing her robe. 

It’s a giant winged being, not unlike the skeletons, except that this one is whole. She has blue skin, a short robe like Kleia’s, but her uniform has much more armor plating on it, including an elaborate helm that gives her the appearance of a halo. She also has thick plate boots, unlike Kleia’s, whose feet are wrapped in bandages but otherwise bare. “Why is this Mnemis unit active? We can ill-afford this anima expenditure.” With a gesture, she shuts down the Greeter, which whirrs into a slump with a cheerful ' _Goodbye!_ '

“Ascended one.” Kleia nods. “This mortal has arrived without being dead.” 

“Explain.” the ‘Ascended one’ turns to you. 

You quickly retell everything that happened, making sure to describe the winged beings you saw in the Maw. 

“A grim fate.” She shakes her head. “But if the Arbiter judged them deserving of it, then the matter is not our concern.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think you understand. They were _working for the Jailer_.” 

“Surely this merits an audience!” Kleia pipes up. 

“There is but one way to earn an audience with the Archon: to walk the path and prove worthy of ascension.”

“Really? _Really_. Come on!” 

The Ascended one keeps up her neutral tone, addressing Kleia this time. "You know the path better than most, aspirant. Archon's eyes upon you.” And without another word, she flies off again. 

Kleia is _hopping_ mad, gritting her teeth and crossing her arms, tapping her foot. “‘Follow the path’!” She exclaims. “As if we have--we should be on our way.” She sighs, turning to you. 

“Hey, at least you didn’t get a lecture for being caught making out while on duty,” you point out, and Kleia flushes again, her bad mood seeming to dissipate quickly as you sidle up beside her and put an arm around her waist. “Come on, now you have an excuse to be around me all day!”


	6. PART I: BASTION

She’s so soft and light, Kleia feels like cotton candy between your fingers. She’s mostly human-looking, almost like those Kul Tirans, but is a bright, nearly neon-blue colour, with silvery glowing eyes. She’s still pouting a little as the two of you walk down a well-trimmed path, but at least she’s not spitting mad anymore. 

“I had nearly passed my final trial when the drought began. None have ascended since.” she laments, bumping her head against your shoulder.”

“Ascended, and become full Kyrian, like that winged one from before?” 

“Yes. Oh, that was Kalisthene.” Kleia blinks. “I don’t think she announced herself. She’s supposed to do that.” 

“Eh, doesn’t count. I’m not really dead, so the usual formalities don’t apply to me.” You tease her gently, and she finally smiles again, though it’s sad. “What’s wrong?” 

“What do you think of Bastion?” 

“It’s gorgeous. I’d love to spend a holiday here. Looks very peaceful.” 

Her head droops. “Our realm must appear pristine to you. Words cannot express what was lost.” Then she pauses. “Wait, let me show you.” 

Both of you stop on the road, and she closes her eyes, taking your hands. Your vision goes amber, and the entire area changes. Streams of bright-white anima fill the land and sky, souls laugh and run free, practicing combat and discipline, and winged Ascendants soar over you. 

“Well, it’s certainly busier.” 

The vision ebbs away slowly, and Kleia chews her lip. “We are in the midst of an unspeakable tragedy. Come, we will seek out my Soulbind, Pelagos, at Aspirant’s Rest.” 

“Soulbind? Wait, am I making out with a married woman? You gotta tell me these things - I mean, I don’t want to break up a happy marriage if you’re monogamous up here.” 

Kleia laughs brightly. “Oh no! No, it’s nothing like that. Think of it more as a...mentorship system, I suppose? Though Pelagos is a very dear and close friend.” 

“I’ll look forward to it then,” you grin, and continue down the path. 

It doesn’t take too long to reach Aspirant’s Rest, a Titan-looking structure with lots of, well, aspirants milling about. “We have arrived! Pelagos will be eager to meet you.” 

“Kleia! Thank the Archon…” another aspirant hurries up, looking alarmed. “Pelagos began the ritual without you!” 

“What!?” Kleia flares up, hair almost standing on end. “That _fool -_ he knows I can’t help him!” Quickly, she grabs your arm. “I need you to go in there and help him.” 

“In where?”

“There!” she gestures to a pathway carved into the side of the cliff, leading down into a dark chamber. “Pelagos may be in danger. The ritual involves facing your most painful memories. Please, be ready to help him!” 

“You got it.” Nodding swiftly, you slip into the shadows and head into the caverns. Again, they look Titan yet not-Titan, and a few tunnels later you hear a scream. It makes your gut churn, and you follow the echo of it into a large chamber. 

Another aspirant, this one with short hair, is suspended in mid-air, surrounded by dark entities. “H-help...me…” Pelagos breathes, and you charge in, surprised when your dagger actually makes contact with the amorphous shadow-y thing. Kleia said these were painful memories? 

**_You are weak. Ascension will never be yours._ **

“I..am weak…” 

“I don’t wanna hear that, Pelagos!” You manage to take down one of the memories, but you don’t know how many are in the room, considering it feels very full. “C’mon! You deserve better than this, you’ve made it this far!” 

**_Your failure is a stain on your soul._ **

“No. NO! I must not give in!” 

“That’s the spirit!” 

The memories shudder and begin to stop swarming, becoming easier to take out. Pelagos sinks down to the floor, blue skin shiny with sweat. “Haaaah. That was too close for comfort.” 

You crouch down, gently pushing dark blue hair away so Pelagos can look up at you. He flashes you a grin and a weak thumbs-up, when he can move his hands, and you help him to his feet. “Thank you. I feel much better now.” 

“Good, and I hope you’re ready for round two soon.” 

“Round two?” he looks concerned as both of you start to leave the chambers. 

“Kleia’s gonna eat you alive,” you warn him, and he gives an awkward, yet hopeful grin. 

“Maybe she’ll go easier on me if you’re here?” 

“We can only hope.” 

The final hallway up to the open air of Bastion leads to Kleia, hands on her hips, lighting into Pelagos as soon as you exit. “That was incredibly reckless, Pelagos! You would have fallen if not for this mortal!” 

“I thought I could succeed on my own…” he winces. “But, I guess I was wrong. I’m sorry for worrying you.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Kleia admonishes him, and then hugs him tight. He hugs her back with equal force and you’re left suddenly awkward, stepping away to give them a moment. 

This area of Bastion affords a nice view, and you can see out over the fields of waving golden grasses to the edges of the land. It seems to just...drop off into nothingness, which is a little alarming, but that Out-land was much the same, and looked far worse for wear. There’s flowers here, too, and trees, and animals grazing and flying. It _is_ peaceful-looking, very calm and soothing. 

“We should get moving again.” Kleia comes up beside you, gently patting your arm. “The next step on the Path of Ascension is to journey to the Apsirant’s Crucible. Theonara will bear you there,” and you both turn as she gestures to a winged, lion-like creature, who pads up to you and shakes its mane. 

“What about you?” 

“Pelagos and I will be walking.” She gives him a stink-eye, and he withers a little. “We have more talking to do.” 

“I see. Well...uh, see you later.” You climb aboard, and Theonara is off. “I, uh, don’t suppose you can give me a preview of what’s up next, eh?” 

Theonara chuffs, and maybe it’s just your imagination, but she sounds amused. 

When you arrive at your destination, Theonara wanders off to rest, and another aspirant comes up to you. “You’re that living soul, right? I’m Foreglite Sophone, Kleia told me to expect you. Please, come with me. Here, when you’re ready, approach the flame and follow the Watcher’s instructions to display your past memories. Pelagos and Kleia should be along shortly.” 

There’s a sort-of platform at the end of some stairs, with a winged Ascendant - the Watcher, you suppose - guarding a brazier. You have a bit of an audience by now, and while you’ve never been ashamed of your sexual proclivities in the past, suddenly you feel a little guilty that you're about to give these people a show they probably didn’t sign up for. “Umm...hello.” 

The Watcher nods at you. “Hello. Please, approach when ready.” 

Here goes nothing. You stand behind the brazier and place your hands on the sides. The flames roar up, blue-silver, then form a projection onto the platform. 

As you expected, it’s _definitely_ explicit. And to your horror, the Watcher begins _narrating_. 

“This hero used her talents to successfully topple the empire of the Scourge by seducing Arthas Menethil, the Lich King, leaving him vulnerable to attack.” She proclaims, sounding _proud_ of you, while the vision of you bounces on the vision of Arthas’ dick like a rodeo clown. Well, yeah, you’re proud of your accomplishments too, but that doesn’t mean you need an entire class of aspirants to re-live it with you. 

The vision changes again, and this time it’s one of your more diplomatic missions, and you notice some people in the crowd are staring openly, while others are politely turning away, as the Watcher praises your work on Draenor. “Five Mag’har at once, such a feat never accomplished by any of the other ambassadors from your world!” 

_Please, Light, let the next vision be something less extreme_. You don’t tend to pray often, but this time it works out, as the blue flames instead show you defeating N’zoth with the help of Wrathion and Magni. “A most impressive victory, savior of Azeroth!” 

There’s applause from the crowd, and you bow your head, smiling to yourself as the flames retreat into the brazier and return to normal. 

“That was amazing!” Sophone comes up to your side, eyes wide and hands clutched into excited fists on her chest. “To have seen and done so much in so little time!” 

“Hey, I may be mortal, but elves still live a long time. And Azeroth is never boring,” you grin. 

She beams at you, then pauses, nodding. “I think you might be able to help me with my forge. It’s gone cold without anima to run it. Would you be able to help me get it going again?” 

“Well, I’ll do my best. How do we start?” 

Sika, the little owl-creature, pops up from inside the forge’s doorframe. “Fix forge! Fix forge!” 

“Stewards exist exclusively to be of aid to us. They become rather depressed when they cannot perform their duties.” Sophone beams at Sika. 

“We help good!” 

“Wait, the Stewards are a slave-race?” You side-eye Sophone and she blinks at you. “And you don’t see any sort of issue with that?” 

“Umm...no? The Stewards were created to help us.” 

“So they were literally made to be nothing other than a slave-race. Are we _still_ not seeing some moral quandaries here.” 

“Well...they could choose _not_ to help us, I suppose.” Sophone shifts from one foot to the other, lifting her forge-hammer over her shoulder. “And it’s not as though we’re sitting around all day demanding they do _all_ our work. We all work side-by-side, and whenever they’re not working, they’re free to relax and pursue their own goals.” 

At that moment, Sika comes up to you with a list. “Gather! Gather! You need all these for anima!” 

You bend to take it. Sika’s...handwriting...is surprisingly well-scripted, and as you’re reading it, you can hear her squawk at you. You lower the list. “Hurry! Hurry! We fix forge, you go now!!” 

Snorting with laughter, you nod. “All right, all right, I’m going.” Making a mental note to be more observant of the way the Stewards are treated and act, you head off in search of more anima. The list helps pinpoint sources - plants and animals alike - and you’re able to gather enough to bring back to the forge just in time for Sophone to show you designs for some new armor. The fine leather is just enhanced with the metallic joints and pieces, and you help her to build it, with you and Sika running around back and forth to keep the forge at an optimal temperature. Soon enough it’s ready, and as you’re trying it on, Kleia comes in to the chamber. 

“I see you have earned the forgelite’s favor. Good,” Kleia nods. “Time to put your new armor to the test.” 

“Test?” You follow her out, waving goodbye to your new friends. “What test?” 

“A trial, of sorts. First you will need to hone your skills here by sparring with the other aspirants, as well as the constructs. They are designed to reveal your weaknesses so you can build upon them in combat.” 

“Okay, that sounds fair.” You’re both approaching a circular structure with pillars and benches around it, and a variety of beings inside and outside of it. “I’ll just...go until you tell me to stop?” 

“Such confidence!” Kleia claps her hands. “This trial will serve you well.” 

Shrugging, you head over and start sparring. After dispatching two of your opponents with ease, you realize how outmatched they are, and slow your style, starting to do some teaching of your own. The constructs are no match for you either, but you don’t exactly have to show a robot how to improve, right? By the time you’ve started working with another group of aspirants, Pelagos catches up to you, Kleia right behind him. 

“The final test is Athanos!” Pelagos gestures to a massive construct patrolling the inside of the ring. 

“Uhh...yeah, I’ll pass.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Look at the size of that thing. I can’t take it down on my own. The whole point of fighting is to know what battles you can and can’t win by yourself.” You shoot Pelagos a look. “Remember when I had to come in and help you from your memory trial? I’m not going to go in that ring alone.” 

Pelagos looks guilty, but Kleia looks interested. “How fascinating! Normally, after going all those rounds, aspirants can’t _wait_ to try their skills on Athanos. Yet you do not?” 

“No.” You shake your head. “Did you see me in those visions? My take-down styles are more...unorthodox. Unless you want me to try and _seduce_ that giant construct, I won’t be able to defeat it in combat.” 

“And you are sure of that?” Kleia grills you, while Pelagos just looks confused. 

“Yes. I know my limits and my skills, and I don’t possess the strength or skill to bring it down.” You reiterate firmly. 

Kleia and Pelagos look at each other, and then Pelagos finally shrugs. “Well,” he turns to you, “that’s sort of the point of that exercise, anyway.” 

“Pelagos!” 

“She isn’t going to do it anyway, there’s no harm in telling her!” He shoots back, then calms again, looking back to you. “You are wise to not enter into battle with your head swimming in your previous victories. Athanos is designed to humiliate you, to humble you, so you don’t get too full of yourself.” 

“Well, I can see why other people might need - and benefit - from that,” you nod, “but to be honest, that’d just make me angry, to be forced into a fight I knew I couldn’t win, and get beaten in front of everyone. Though I suppose it’s not as potentially eye-scarring as having your sexual exploits broadcasted to an unwitting audience.” 

“WHAT!?” 

“The Watcher’s vision demonstration? Oh, I guess you weren’t there for that. Yeah, back on my home world I’m not just skilled in combat; I’m what you might call an ambassador.” You grin. “A diplomat. I subdue my enemies and make new friends through very, _very_ intimate connections.”

Pelagos’ eyes go huge and he blushes, and Kleia elbows him, grinning slightly. “I told you, she’s powerful!” 

“To affect one so much with mere words…” Pelagos murmurs, shaking his head. You offer your hand, and he takes it. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” you try to be reassuring, and Kleia finds your other hand, and then grabs Pelagos, connecting the circle. “Listen, what was the next step?” 

“Uhh...since you’ve defeated these trials, we should have you undergo the same sort of cleansing Pelagos did, in the Chambers of Reflection.” Kleia considers. 

“Does that happen in a private area?” 

A pause. “It sure does,” Kleia responds, and you can hear her smile without looking at her, because Pelagos is still staring at you, and you’re staring back. “Come on, it’s not too far from here. I’ll lead the way.”


	7. Chapter 7

Over the gentle, rolling hills and across a river you all walk, the breeze lifting your hair gently and warm against your skin. Time does not seem to pass here; there are no suns, no moons, no stars. The land of the dead does not seem to need day or night, but it’s beautifully bright, and the sight of the sky almost lulls you to sleep. 

“The chambers are down here.” Kleia gestures, and the three of you head down into the darkened tunnel. Bioluminescence glows from the pools in the caverns, and to the left is a room with shelves and scrolls. “Before the ritual, you should bathe in the pool and put on ritual vestments.” She begins looking through robe sets, tilting her head as she holds them up, trying to find one that will fit your stature. Most of them are bigger than you need, built for the soft, rounded Kyrian bodies. “We...might have to wrap them tighter. By this point, many aspirants have already taken on new forms.” 

“New forms. I noticed that everybody here looks the same.” You acknowledge, taking off your clothes and folding them, leaving them on a stool. Both Kleia and Pelagos are unashamedly watching you, and you just smile, stepping into the pool up to your waist. “What’s up with that?” 

“Oh, right.” Kleia seems to snap out of it, nodding. “Along with our new roles, aspirants are given new bodies to help us perform our duties. Strong and healthy.” 

“Mortal forms that we took with us carry wounds and weaknesses from life,” Pelagos sits by the side of the pool, unwrapping his feet and dipping them in the water. He smiles. “At the fighting ring, you saw spirits who had not yet moved on to the next stage.” 

“That’s right, there were a lot of mortal shapes there.” You nod, considering. Mostly shades of people that could’ve been from Azeroth, and a few others you didn’t quite recognize. “I guess they’ve been kind of...stuck?” 

“Sort-of. Each soul decides its own pace on which to move forward, to work through its grief and to live with new purpose. For lack of a better word.” Pelagos grins, then falters. “But the process has stalled for most, with the anima drought and lack of new souls. It can be...discouraging. We want to try and help as much as we can, but -” 

“I understand that time is of the essence.” You dip yourself lower in the pool, and Pelagos reaches out. 

“Wait. I mean, I. You don’t owe me anything, but I.” He pauses, then looks at Kleia, who giggles, her nose wrinkling up. 

“Come down into the pool, then,” you move back, letting yourself float a little. “I want to see if you’re both blue all over.” 

Kleia and Pelagos quickly divest themselves of their robes and trappings, their skin the same rich bright colour no matter where you look. Their bodies are not hairless; with bared limbs you can see fine, downy blue hair on their legs and just below their hips. 

“You won’t get in trouble for this, will you?” You quickly turn to Kleia as they move towards you in the water, and she quickly shakes her head. 

“No. Intimacy isn’t really maintained because we’re all so busy normally, but connections - touching, hugging, staying together - really is encouraged, especially among soulbinds.” 

“Soulbinds. You’ve said that before. That’s not like, a married thing?” 

Pelagos laughs softly, sliding his arms around your hand in the water, just standing by your side, almost shy. “No. It is mentorship, friendship, love...many things, but not a mortal marriage tradition.” 

“I see.” You turn your palm and wrap your fingers gently around his cock, squeezing gently. He gasps softly, pressing his nose and lips into your shoulder, and sighing. 

“Soulbinds can also change, and be with more than one soul,” Kleia slides wet hands around your waist, touching your skin. “Though our bodies have changed, they still fit us well, and respond to our desires.”

“And expose them.” Though you’re stroking Pelagos’ cock more firmly under the water, he seems to have lost interest a little, distracted by some of your scars. “I think you want me, but you’re not sure if you want _me._ Would it help if I looked a little different? Maybe more like you?” 

“What do you mean? Are you a shapeshifter?” Pelagos inquires. 

“Not naturally, but my bag is full of potions.” You gesture at your discarded packs. “I’ll be right back.” 

Both of them let you go, and you wade over to where you can reach it, stretching out to pull it closer. “Where did I put them…” your inner containers are lined to protect the flasks. “Elixir of tongues, inky-black potions, vanishing potions...here we go!” A set of little bottles, round at the bottom and thin at the top, turning to show him. “This little jar will swap my body for a man’s for an hour. Could I interest you in a nice, fat cock?” 

Pelagos blushes strongly and stammers, and Kleia giggles, laughing and splashing him a little in the water. Then he goes quiet. A little _too_ quiet. 

“Pelagos?” 

“I...just something from my mortal life.” He blinks a few times, then smiles, then frowns again. “It would’ve been...useful, to have something like that.” 

“It’s..not permanent.” You come over to them again in the water, taking his other hand. Kleia is holding his left. “It’s a fun toy to play with, but not a permanent solution. Though I’m sure there would be ways-” 

Pelagos shakes his head, his expression warming up again. “In case you haven’t noticed,” he teases gently, “I’m male _now_ , and I like this body.” Letting go of both of you, he hugs himself around his middle, and his expression makes your heart jump for joy. He looks so, so peaceful and happy. 

“It’s a good body, and it’s yours to keep.” You grin, booping his nose. He laughs, then looks over at you shyly again. 

“Maybe...maybe next time you can show me how the potion works.” Pelagos smiles, taking Kleia’s hand once more. “Right now, this is fine. I promise.” 

More laughter echoes through the cavern as the three of you push into a shallower area so Kleia can lay back on some smooth rocks and you straddle her, kissing. Light, she still tastes so good, and when Pelagos’ mouth hesitantly joins both of yours, his flavour is sweet. He’s behind you as you kneel above Kleia, and you can feel his cock nudging against your leg, just under the surface of the water. Coming up for a moment, you lift your hips and Pelagos kneels, tentatively touching your pussy lips. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” you promise him. It’s hard to see him from this angle, and you can feel his hot breath against your clit, so close - and then he just ducks his head, kissing your thigh, and stands again. Smiling gently, you return to kissing Kleia, pushing your fingers through her light pubic hair and into her pussy. She arches off the rocks and moans softly into your mouth, and the sound echoes through the cavern, along with the little splashes from the pool. Light flashes off the surface of the tiny waves and ripples, making the whole place light up. You get to three fingers inside her, curling and pushing into her slick, tight walls while she thrashes below you, before you feel Pelagos’ cock pushing against your pussy. 

Relaxing and pausing for a moment - just gently kissing Kleia’s neck - you can feel him taking his time to push inside of you, hearing his little noises, and _Light_ that’s good. He’s not very deep inside you when he starts thrusting, and you’ve got the feeling he won’t really last long, so you go back to kissing Kleia and working her up. She’s gripping your biceps so tightly, her pussy gripping your fingers even more so. She’s just so _hot_ inside, and fuck, so is Pelagos, his cock driving into you over and over, slaps of flesh against flesh and “ _Ngh. Ah! Hah. Uh. Hnng. Gh!_ ” against your back, fast and sloppy. It’s so good. 

You bite down on Kleia’s neck, whimpering yourself as you come, thighs shaking in the water, one knee wobbling and threatening to give out as all your muscles tense. Pelagos comes immediately, crying out and clinging to you from behind. Kleia makes a frustrated noise, and you quickly finger-fuck her into screaming, feeling her clamp down around you as she comes too, pussy walls fluttering like wings around three fingers. You keep your thumb on her clit, rubbing in small circles, feeling her shudder and pulse around you as your orgasm is drawn out around Pelagos’ cock. He doesn’t seem to realize he should pull out of you, and you’re not about to tell him to go. 

After a few more minutes of wet snuggling, you gently manouvre yourself free, actually taking the time to wash up. Kleia and Pelagos are cuddling on the rocks, petting each other and nuzzling like cats. Amused, you finish up, then climb out to get dressed. Just like emerging from the pool at the entry of Bastion, as soon as you get out of the water, it evaporates, leaving your skin soft and hydrated. 

“Come on, you two,” you playfully tease, pulling on the ritual robes. “Are you going to witness me or what?” 

Pelagos blushes sheepishly and Kleia laughs, and they both exit the pool and dress as well. 

“Ring the vespers of clarity when you are ready,” Kleia gestures, “and then we’ll go to the ritual room.” 

Down the hallway is a chamber with three mirrors. As you approach one, cautiously, Kleia and Pelagos watch from the doorway. “Few aspirants advance to this trial so quickly. If you succeed, you will have proven yourself to the ascended.”

“Great, then we can finally get the attention we need, and give them the message I came to give.” You roll your eyes, then press your palms against the mirror and gaze into it. Your reflection darkens, and you take a few steps back as _something_ emerges. Some sort of shapeless, shadow-y beast, and you draw your weapons, slaying it easily. 

You can hear Kleia’s voice from the doorway. “You must delve deeper. Try again.”

“What am I looking for?” You head to the next mirror, relaxing your shoulders and back, and trying to focus. 

“A deep memory, something you must pull from yourself. Open yourself to it.” 

“Vague, but okay.” 

The thing that emerges from this mirror is bigger and darker, and has a voice, hissing something that you can’t understand. It takes more effort to slay, leaving you a bit sweaty. Still, Kleia and Pelagos aren’t celebrating; you clearly aren’t done yet. There’s still another mirror, and you approach it, trying not to be too wary. This is, after all, supposed to be introspective. 

Your reflection changes to a darkened shape that _you recognize_. 

“No.” 

“There! This is the moment you must overcome.” Kleia’s voice breaks through your horrified stupor, and you stagger a few steps back as the _thing_ crawls towards you across the floor. It’s massive, and you know _exactly_ what it is, but he was never this big in life, something is _so wrong_ , it wasn’t like this at all - 

“Face your memories! Fight your fears!” Pelagos yells out, and you fumble, your weapons still in-hand, forgotten. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell the too-familiar shade, and drive your blades into its skull. It explodes in a black cloud of smoke, and you can hear his voice calling your name before you faint dead away.


	8. Chapter 8

When you come-to, Pelagos has your head in his lap and Kleia has wrapped you in a blanket, rubbing your shoulders through it to keep you warm. “Oh, thank the Archon you’re alright! We were so worried!” 

“I don’t know what came over me,” you admit groggily, sipping the potion that Pelagos offers, helping you sit up as Kleia unwraps you, but still keeps it over your shoulders so you don’t get too cold. “I should’ve known I’d have some traumatic memories in the ol’ noggin, but I guess I wasn’t expecting _that_ one.” 

“What _was_ that? _Who_ was that?” Pelagos inquires, and you pause, gently putting the empty potion bottle down. You can’t bring yourself to say his name, and eventually Pelagos gives up. 

“Kalisthene is on her way,” Kleia remarks, as both of them begin to help you to your feet. Your strength is returning. “She must have heard about this - this is a pretty advanced ritual, and you’ve been able to complete it so soon. When she comes, we can request an audience with the Archon!” 

“All right, well, let’s get a move-on then.” 

All three of you head up and out into the open air again, and sure enough, the winged Ascendant is there, waiting for you. 

“You arrived in Bastion with dire news, which I have shared with the Archon. She thanks you for your service.” Her wings flutter a little. “As a token of gratitude, she wishes to offer you a gift. Do you accept?”

“A gift? Of course.” You nod, bowing a little. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to, but it can’t hurt, right?

Kalisthene hums in a pleased sort-of way, and places her hand on top of your head. A warm glow fills you, and just like that, the knowledge comes to you. 

“You are given the gift of an Echoing Reprimand. May you use it well in the defense of the Shadowlands.” 

And just like that, the mini-ceremony is over. You’re left to ponder your new ability while Kleia and Pelagos come to your sides, fuming as Kalisthene leaves. 

“Ugh, seriously? We _still_ don’t get to talk to the Archon?” Kleia kicks a rock, grumbling. “Let’s go back to the Aspirant’s Rest for a bit, it’s safest there.” 

“The Archon said nothing of kyrian serving the Maw?” Pelagos inquires.

“Perhaps she does not believe it. We have but the word of a single aspirant.” Kleia makes an oversized shrugging gesture, then a mighty side-eye to the Ascendant as she flies away. “Though one would think that would be enough.”

“Come on, it’s a long walk. We should get going.” 

By the time you get back to the Rest, you’re in need of a nap. Kleia and Pelagos set you up in a nest of pillows and blankets on a soft rug, and leave you to it for a while. Exhausted, your dreams are strange and dark. 

Kleia is sitting by your side when you wake. She’s reading a tome. “Ah, there you are. Not a moment too soon. Disciple Kosmas needs some help.” 

“Oh?” You pull out a snack from your bag and focus on fully waking up as the Ascendant Kosmas comes towards you. He looks worried. “How can we help you?” 

“I am one of the leaders at the Temple of Purity. It is a place of cleansing, where aspirants free themselves of their burdens. Lately, though, everyone is coming to us for our services and it’s creating a bottleneck. We don’t have enough disciples of the temple to handle everyone. We’re looking for more hands to help support us.” 

“I think we’d be happy to help, right?” You glance at Kleia and she nods, then waves Pelagos over. He’d been helping carry supplies with some stewards. “Pelagos! We’re going to head to the Temple of Purity.” 

Back over the hills and paths you all go, and down into a valley carved into the rocks. As you arrive, there’s actually a variety of entities there. The winged Ascended, regular aspirants, souls of various forms, and...closely-guarded aspirants, but they’re _wrong._ They look dark, their hair and skin and clothing deep shades of indigo and brown. As you get closer, some look afraid, while others look angry and upset. Everyone, on the whole, looks tense here. 

“Guard yourselves against your doubts.” Kosmas says, as all of you stand onthe stairs leading down into the valley. “All is not well.” 

“We should go and see Eridia,” Pelagos suggests, “she’s the Hand of Purity, one of the leaders of this temple.” 

Quietly, the four of you make your way over to a massive structure near the edge of the land mass. Over the side there’s nothing but clouds and the tail ends of waterfalls, and it makes you dizzy to look so far down. As Eridia comes your way, you straighten up, then bow to her, and she nods her head. 

“I do not recognize you...a pity this is how you will see us for the first time.” She looks sympathetic enough, and her body language in general just reads of exasperation and tiredness. “Kleia, assist the paragon. Pelagos, you and our new aspirant will aid the disciples. Go in service.”

“Yes, ascended one.” Pelagos bows, then grabs your hand lightly, guiding you away. “The Paragon is there, across the temple... and so many awaiting their rites.”

There’s a lot of miserable-looking people around here. “Why is everyone so upset?” 

“They have doubts,” Pelagos explains, coming up to a nearby aspirant, sitting on a bench, his hands clasping themselves so tight that his knuckles are white. 

“Hey, chill out.” You squat down in front of him, and he looks up at you, eyes wide and sad. “I know things look bad right now, but the drought will pass, and you’ll be on your way again.” 

“How can you know that?” The aspirant replies, still frowning. “Do you even know what caused it, let alone how to stop it?” 

“Well, no, but I have some ideas. And I’m not alone. I don’t have to take on the whole world by myself, and neither do you.” You put your hands on his, and he slowly begins to relax under your words and touch. He stops gripping himself so tightly, and opens his palms to hold yours instead, just lightly. “This isn’t your fault, and if this were a normal day, you’d already be well on your way. Probably even Ascend already. All you have to do is be patient.” 

“The Arbiter didn’t make a mistake, did she? I belong here, don’t I?” He looks between you and Pelagos, and Pelagos puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“Yeah, you do. She wouldn’t have sent you here if she didn’t believe this was the best place for you to flourish and grow. She knew this was what you wanted. Just...nobody was expecting this to delay things.” 

The aspirant looks a little less troubled now, much more relaxed, and nods. “Thank you both. I think I’ll take a walk and think about things, but don’t worry - you’ve really helped me.” He heads off, and Pelagos nods, and you both head over to a vesper over an ornamental pond. 

“This is a ritual to help cleanse burdens from the mind. I’ll ring the vesper while you help clear any visions that appear, okay?” Pelagos gestures, and you nod, taking your place. 

“”Thank you for coming. My name is Fotima, and this is Danysia. We must act quickly!” 

As the vesper’s song rings out, Danysia’s memories and burdens take form, and it’s clear why this was troubling her so much. Fotima’s voice rings over your shoulder as you dispatch them. “Her burden reveals itself. As with many, it is a memory of the one she could not save in life.” You’re unable to stop the ghostly human rogue from murdering another frightened human, but with the guard’s help, you bring them down. 

“It is done. How do you feel, acolyte?” 

“Lighter...and clearer.” Danysia smiles at you, though it’s a little lopsided. 

“You are one step closer to your ascension, sister.” Fotima turns to you as Danysia hurries off. “You have my thanks.” 

“That went well.” Pelagos chimes in, coming back to your side. “Certainly better than _my_ last cleansing!” 

“I shudder to think.” You poke his side, and he giggles, swatting at your hand. “Come on. Let’s go over there next.” 

You follow Pelagos down the sloped hill to where a Disciple is trying to help another Acolyte. “Hello! We’re here to help!” 

She turns and looks grateful, relieved. You can see the stress in her face. “Thank you. I am helping this Acolyte ease the bonds of their memories. As you will see, not all the memories that bind us are violent.” 

“I’m ready to see.” You nod, and the Acolyte takes a deep breath, then relaxes. Shades of Tauren, warm and casual and friendly, surround you. It suddenly hits you, that letting go of your memories means letting go of _every_ memory. Dismissing each with a touch as the Disciple commands is easy enough, but then, these aren’t _your_ memories. 

Maybe Bastion isn’t right for you, after all. 

“Closest to many are the bonds of family. They will not be easy to forget.” The Disciple’s voice rings clear, and it breaks your heart to approach these most of all. You hesitate, and in that moment, the memories burst out of control. The Acolyte screams, and it spurs you on. You’re able to grab each memory, feeling it disintegrate under your touch, and when they’re all gone, he seems calm again. 

“Are you still with us?” The Disciple hurries to him, putting her hands on his arms. 

“I...think so. Yes.” He smiles weakly, and she embraces him. Surprised, he hugs her back, and it’s tight, his hands pulling at the fabric of her robes. 

“Rest, for now. That was a difficult thing you just endured.” She tucks his head under her chin and you respectfully turn away, looking back to Pelagos, who looks thoughtful. 

“I remember my family, doubtful they would recognize me now!” He laughs softly, shaking his head. “I hope when I must forget, it goes…not like that.” 

“Remind me again why forgetting is so important?” You inquire, taking his hand as he walks with you. 

“So that we may bear souls without judgement. Without bias.” Pelagos blinks, nodding at you and smiling shyly. “If...if you’re implying what I think you are, yes, I’m a little sad I have to let them go. But honestly, that life is over. I can never go back. If you think of your life as ‘home’, the despair that you can never go ‘home’ again-” he takes a deep breath, calming himself. “ _This_ is my home now. My family. My loved ones.” He looks at you, squeezes your hand, eyes shining. “I want to help people. I want to love and serve others and be the best guardian and friend to the souls that I can be. Keeping the memories of my past would cloud my judgement, and make me long for a world I can never go back to. I want to be kind to myself, and being kind to myself means letting go of memories that can only ever make me sad.”

“Huh, never thought of it that way. But don’t your memories make you who you are?” 

“My _experiences_ make me who I am.” Pelagos corrects you. “You experienced those things whether you remember them or not. You were born, and you don’t remember that, do you?” he points out cheekily. “Forgetting that time you performed in front of a crowd of strangers doesn’t mean you’ll never sing again. And in that moment, I know I was terrified and feeling alone. Sure I was happy _after_ , but overall, I know I _remember_ it differently than I experienced it. So, who’s to say what memories are true, anyway?” 

“You are shockingly deep. You sure you’re not Ascended already?” You tease him, ruffling his hair, and he laughs, ducking away and fixing his admittedly-messy coif. 

“I’m trying! Look, there’s another Disciple. I think that’s Lykaste.” 

You head up again, and the Disciple indeed turns to you in relief. “Oh, thank you for coming. This is Erisne, and one particular burden is bringing us to the absolute brink. Please, _please_ , help us!” 

“Of course.” You draw your weapon, at the ready, but the moment the memory appears, Erisne drops to her knee. “Wait, what?” 

“This is the moment! Fight it!” Lykaste urges from behind you, but Erisne just keeps her head down. “What are you doing!? GET UP!” 

**_You were powerless before me. You are powerless now._ **

“I am...powerless…” 

**_You know the path forward. Let me in._ **

Taking a step back, you collide with Pelagos, who was coming to your side. He hugs you, and you turn. When you look back, only Erisne is there. She looks...different. 

“Long have I toiled in this temple. And for what?” She growls, grim. “No more. I will walk this path no longer!”

Lykaste looks horrified. “Erisne... why? Why did you not fight?”

“Look around you, _disciple_. We are all destined to fall, eventually.”

“I refuse to believe that to be true.” Lykaste replies, but she’s clearly shaken. “Go. Loyalty awaits you, acolyte.” Turning away, you can hear her muttering as she walks off. “I must inform the Paragon. To lose an acolyte, at the end of their trials, no less…”

Pelagos whispers as he hugs you. “Many have fallen recently. The Temple of Loyalty is trying their best to bring them back to the path. Let’s go back and talk to Eridia.” 

“Y-yeah, she’ll want a full report.” You hug him for a moment more, then take his hand and hurry back to where the Hand of Purity is waiting for you. She accepts your update, then asks one more favour - to check on a disciple she sent after some fleeing acolytes, but hasn’t yet returned. 

“What sort of memories do you get to keep, if any?” You inquire of Pelagos as both of you head away from the temple and up the hill. 

“Memories of Bastion, of course.” Pelagos beams. “Kleia, and you, and-”

“The choice is yours. You know how to find us.” A low voice speaks as you crest the hill and see two people in front of you. One must be the wayward disciple, Nikolon, and the other - 

_Is that -_

“Uther?!”


	9. Chapter 9

The urge to run the rest of the way up the hill and dive-bomb that so-familiar-looking Ascended ( _and how is he ASCENDED, that human is responsible for the decimation of your people - at least indirectly_ ) is powerful, but you manage to stay where you are, keeping Pelagos behind you and the curve of the cliff. You wouldn’t have made it in time anyway, he flies away too quickly. 

“What’s an Oot-hur?” 

You sigh a little, then tug Pelagos out of the shadows and towards Nikolon. “C’mon. I’ll explain later. It’s a long - very long - story.” 

Nikolon is on his knees on the grass, staring at his hands. “Uh...hey. Are you okay?” 

When he looks up, his eyes are full of anguish. “No. No, I’m _not_ okay. Look around you! _Nobody_ here is okay. This is all madness. I cannot bear the sight of this suffering!” he stumbles to his feet. “I must have words with Eridia.” 

“Okay, but calm down first...you’re going to stress yourself into a panic attack.” Pelagos and you try to calm him down. Pelagos rubs his back as the three of you walk, but Nikolon keeps darting off in wildly different directions, and finally sprints off. “I must report to the temple of Loyalty!” 

“What the - oh come on!” Pelagos gives chase, but bumps into him when Nikolon stops abruptly and turns back towards you. 

“Oh, sorry. I am still needed here. I must endure! Eridia can help me, she will not let me fall! She can save me!” He pushes Pelagos off of him, and bolts back towards where the Hand is stationed. 

Grabbing Pelagos by the hand again, you both hurry off after him. 

By the time you get there, he’s already on his knees in front of a very-confused-looking Eridia. 

“He was conspiring with Uther, a human from my world.” You give your report, side-eyeing Nikolon. “Do you want the full story, or I mean, that’s gotta be in your records by now.” 

“Uther? That name does seem familiar.” Eridia pauses. “Devos. Devos took him under her wing during his progression here. How curious that you recognized him.” 

“Yeah, that was weird. He doesn’t _look_ like - I mean he’s got the blue skin and wings and everything, but he looks like he did before. When he was alive. Sort of. Long story.” You glance at Pelagos. “I haven’t seen anyone about with a beard like his.” 

“Perhaps I should grow a beard…” Pelagos runs a hand over his smooth chin, and you blow air out your nose. 

“Pelagos, that’s _not the point_ -”

Nikolon makes a sobbing noise and Eridia shushes both of you. “Pelagos, go and mind the stewards. Aspirant, you come with me. We will put this disciple’s pain to rest.” 

“Thank you! Thank you!” Nikolon stumbles out onto a platform. Pelagos shrugs and goes in the other direction. You follow Eridia out. 

“Uh...any reason why you sent Pel away?” 

“He is... more fragile than most, when it comes to cleansing. I would not want him to lose his way. What we are about to do can be very unpleasant to witness.” Then she looks sheepish. “You... I very much get the sense that you can handle the occasional dramatic event.”

“Yeah. Probably a good idea.” You turn back. “Okay, let’s get this party started.” 

“This is not a party.” 

“Show me the manifestations!” 

“Are you going to take this seriously or not?!” 

“Sorry, I’m a little on edge right now. This is a very nice place and I just spotted a very _not-nice_ person in it. Starting to question the Arbiter’s judgement a little, myself. Carry on.” You crack your knuckles and pull out your weapons. 

Eridia sighs, then raises her arms. Vespers ring, drawing out shades of his doubt and despair, but something is clearly wrong. Nikolon keeps moaning in pain, and finally screams out. “Why does it hurt?!” 

“Remain calm,” Eridia urges him, “Trust in the process.” 

“It is the process that grinds our aspirants into dust. How can I trust it?” 

“There is only one path for you, disciple. That is forward, through this pain!”

“How can you endure this? How can you watch them suffer, unmoved?!”

“Our faith binds us all!” Eridia shoots back. “This is the path we were chosen to walk!”

“No.” Nikolon kneels, limp, unmoving, on the floor, as you mop up the last of the visions. “We will all fall. All of us. That is where the path leads! I cannot save them. I cannot even save myself.” 

“Nikolon…” 

“Nikolon, don’t do this!” 

“If this is truly the only way, then I will find another.” Nikolon murmurs, his wings shuffling. As he’s been speaking, shadows have crept over him, leaving him dark and cold, a stark contrast against the warmth of the landscape. “ _They_ are coming. And I will stand among them.” 

“They?” 

Before anyone can answer, the screaming starts. Eridia jerks and races back through the temple grounds, and you’re hot on her heels. Kyrian - more of those darker ones - are invading the temple grounds, and they’re _killing_ people. 

“Eridia!” Pelagos dashes up to your side, dripping with sweat. “The wards! They’ve-” 

“ **Forsworn! The temple is ours!** ” 

Next to you, Eridia staggers. “No. _No_. I _know_ that voice! This cannot be!” 

“Uh...lemme guess, friend of yours? Ex-friend?” 

“It sounds like Lysonia...the Hand of Loyalty, and my Soulbind. We have been sending Kyrian to her care in the Temple of Loyalty, and if it has been she who has been leading them astray…” Eridia’s hands come to her face, and under her helm, you can see tears streaking down her cheeks. “I have been sending them to their deaths!” 

“Come on, Pelagos!” You shake your head. “I’m gonna need your help. Let’s save everyone we can.” 

“I’ll help!” Pelagos grabs a spear, but looks nervous about using it. Luckily, they don’t seem to attack him with you nearby. You’re able to help rally the remaining disciples and even some aspirants, and the dark Kyrian, these ‘Forsworn’, seem to be taken aback at the resistance. Some fight, but most retreat at the sight of their former brothers and sisters defending themselves instead of falling in line. 

You make your way to the bridge, where Eridia is standing against more of the Forsworn. 

“Stand aside! I would have words with your leader.” 

Seeing the way the wind is blowing, the Forsworn guards look at each other, then part. “We will allow you to pass unharmed. For now.” 

“Come, we must cleanse the great Vespers of Purity that she has corrupted.” It’s Kosmas again, coming up behind you as Pelagos follows Eridia. “You have no wings. Let me carry you. Eridia will handle Lysonia.” 

“Okay. What should I do?” 

“Take this.” He hands you a hammer. It’s golden, winged, and weighs next to nothing in your hands. “When we get close enough, hit the Vespers.” 

“You can’t do it yourself?” 

“Hit them _and_ fight off the Forsworn?” He gestures to the sky, shaking his head. It’s teeming with black wings. “I’ll need both hands.” 

“Then boy do I have some good news for you.” You hop up effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. He startles, blinking at you, then blushes as he looks down, his cheeks going dark. “Strong thighs. Don’t worry, I won’t fall off. I’ve actually done this before - but with all my clothing off.” 

Disciple Kosmas makes a strangled noise in his throat, then clears it, giving a vigorous shake to clear his head before grabbing a spear and taking off. The jerky wingbeats even out a bit, and you slide one arm around his neck to support him during flight. He looks everywhere but at you, and you’re sure it’s only half because he needs to concentrate on the Forsworn. You can hear a yelling match and the clash of weapons all around you and below you, but you have a mission too, and as you pass the first Vesper, you lean down with both hands and hit the massive metal structure as hard as you can with the hammer. 

The resulting sound waves at close range nearly knock Kosmas out of the air, and leave your head spinning. Your ears ring, loud and painful, and you have to hold on tight with both arms so you don’t fall, the hammer now pressed into Kosmas’ back. Still, it’s worked - as you fly onwards, you can see over his shoulder that the Vesper itself is ringing clear again, changing back to its shimmering golden tones. 

Kosmas’ arms go around you, holding you in place as the Forsworn start to back off a bit, and you can feel his tight embrace through your leathers. 

“You’re hard,” you observe, grinning as you squeeze your thighs around his waist. 

He groans. “Of course I’m hard, don’t make this worse.” He has to let go to threaten someone with his spear again, and you approach the next Vesper, hitting it a lot less hard. It still works, and though the sound isn’t nearly as loud, it still seems to purify at the same rate. That’s good, at least. Save your hearing. You adjust yourself on Kosmas and oh _boy_ is this boy even harder against you now. 

“You sure you don’t want me to open your pants?” You tease. 

“Stay focused!” Kosmas growls, though his flying movements are growing more erratic, as though he’s trying to thrust against you while moving through the air. “There’s one more Vesper. We need to dive - hang on!” 

You grab for his neck and shoulders again as he tips down, flying under a row of attackers and heading for the final Vesper. You smack it with the golden hammer, and it rings out as the Forsworn scatter. Kosmas laughs and it’s a beautiful sound, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders and _grind_ into him. He gasps and his wings stutter, nearly dropping his spear as he grabs at you, holding you close. “You’re going to get us both killed!” He admonishes you, then groans as he fills his pants. You can feel him twitching against you, pulsing even through multiple layers. 

“Maybe, maybe not. But worth it.” You pull back to bat your eyelashes at him, and he rolls his eyes, panting. He’s grinning too, though, as he comes down for a very wobbly landing, letting you get back on your feet. His expression immediately darkens when he spots what’s happening up on the higher platform. “Come on. We’re not done yet. We need to buy Eridia some time. Help me!” 

Both of you get to the upper area and continue to fight with Lysonia as the Hand of Purity seems to struggle with her doubt. Another, taller Kyrian has entered the fray, too, trying to help Eridia while you and Kosmas keep Lysonia busy. 

“The Paragon must die! You will not interfere!” Lysonia yells, as she batters at you. “Our realm lies in ruins. The Forsworn will set us free!”

“There is no freedom in _murder_ ,” you reply, kicking her legs out from under her. She goes down, her wings straining as Kosmas jumps on her back. He pulls out a fistful of feathers and she _screeches_ , making him stagger back and cover his ears. 

“ _MAW TAKE ALL OF YOU!_ ” 

Before she can finish, the other Kyrian grabs her with some sort of force, making a pulling motion as though drawing thread from a spool. “This power...it cannot be! I will _know_ your truth!” 

Lysonia, no longer bound, bolts. The remaining Forsworn scatter like roaches exposed to light, fleeing the area and abandoning their dead and dying comrades. You and Kosmas hurry forward as Eridia is helped back to standing. “What...what is that?” 

“It is an echo of her deepest held memories.” The tall Kyrian holds something in her hands. “It will reveal the truth behind her treachery.” Her gaze snaps to you, and you straighten up a little bit, putting your weapon away. “ _You_. You arrived just as all these problems began to start.” 

“Oh, I am _so_ not responsible for all of this. We’re just as confused as you are. I’m part of an expedition into the Shadowlands to find out what happened.” 

She sighs. “My name is Vesiphone; I am the Paragon of Purity. My Hand has been gravely injured; she must remain here. Disciple Kosmas, please tend to her. Lysonia's essence has been twisted by the Maw. We must learn how this came to pass.” She turns to you again, pointing to the blackened shape. “Bring this fragment to the Mnemonic Locus, where we collect the memories of all Kyrian. If fate is kind, Lysonia's memories will lead us to the answers we seek.”

“Is someone _finally_ going to speak on our behalf to the Archon?” You demand, and Vesiphone nods quickly. 

“Do not worry. I will inform the Archon of what transpired here... and seek restitution for those we lost.” Her face is grim. She looks as though she’s about to speak when you hear a scream from behind you. But it’s not one of pain - it’s your name. 

You turn, spotting Kleia and Pelagos coming at you, and you’re nearly knocked over from the hug. “Archon be praised!” Pelagos weeps. “Our friend is whole!”

“Kleia, accompany this one to the archives. I must fly to Elysian Hold.” Vesiphone’s voice does not waver. “My disciples are needed here, and I must inform the Archon at once. Go in service, and swiftly at that!”

Kleia breaks the hug to bow to her. “It will be done, Paragon.” 

Kosmas puts an arm around your head and kisses the top of your hair swiftly before striding off to help clean up the mess, and both Kleia and Pelagos blink at you. “What’s that about?” 

“The usual business.” You grin. “I know we need to hurry, but I don’t think I can run anymore.” 

“Huh? Are you tired?” 

“I just spent the last ten minutes hanging on to that poor Disciple with my thighs while flying, I’m amazed I can stand right now.” 

Pelagos winces. “Come on, I know some place safe.” 

The three of you manage up the hill and around the bend to a peaceful waterfall. You stick your legs in the water and sigh, taking a moment to rummage through your bag for a snack. You’re running low on food, but your stack of potions is good, and the healing draughts really help ease the ache. 

The two of them are chattering away. “The Forsworn may attack again. We need to warn Hero’s Rest.” 

Pelagos shakes his head. “I will warn them, you go on ahead and finish the mission. But Kleia...please come back to me.” 

“Always.” She embraces him, and he clings to her robes for a moment. “Actually, I should go ahead to the Mnemonic Locus. It’s not far from here, and if there’s danger we should prepare.” She stands, nodding to you before hurrying away. 

“I might not see you again for a while.” You gently touch Pelagos’ cheek as he settles beside you on the grass. He leans into it and closes his eyes, relaxing. 

“Could we, um. I don’t know if I want, um, everything, but...you said...a potion?” He opens one of his eyes and you chuckle. 

“We’ll be quick about it, and save the rest for later, hmm?” 

Nodding shyly, Pelagos begins to untie his sash, and you stop him. “Don’t take your clothes off. Trust me, you’ll like this.” 

Confused, he watches as you pull out a transmorphic tincture from your bag and pop the cork, chugging the little bottle. Warmth slides into your throat and down into your stomach, spreading throughout your body. Your limbs thicken; your throat lengthens. It takes less than a minute for the transformation to be complete, and you turn to grin at him, reaching out a hand. He takes it, his eyes wide, before you pull him in for a kiss. He melts into it, moaning against your lips, pressing his body against yours.

“Mmm, I bet you’re already getting hard for me,” you purr, your voice deep from the transformation, and you can feel Pelagos shudder under your touch as you drag a hand down to his hips, grinding the heel of your hand against him. He _is_ already hard, his cock tenting the fabric of the linen kilt he’s wearing, and you take one of his hands and bring it there, both of you stroking him through the fabric until a wet spot starts to grow and spread. “I’ll bet you taste so damn delicious.” 

All he can do is whimper and lift his hips as you press kisses through the fabric before finally moving it away and taking hold of his cock. Pelagos squirms as you drag your hand up and down, jacking him slowly before putting your lips around the head and sucking him in. Hearing him whine is music to your still-slightly-ringing ears. He’s leaking so much precum that it’s already sloppy in your mouth, but like Kleia, the taste is just soft and sweet. It’s a wonder they’re not all up each others’ skirts at all times, tasting this good. Maybe it’s just on the mortal tongue. 

You suck harder and he cries out, pushing deeper into your mouth. He’s warm and hard, cockhead soft and round under your tongue as you explore, dipping into his slit and listening to him warble nonsense, then trailing around under his foreskin lazily as he just gasps and gasps and bucks. 

That gives you an idea, pulling off his cock with a wet slurp as Pelagos gasps again, blushing. “I was close,” he pouts, and you laugh and kiss him again. 

“Open my pants and take me out. I want to show you something.” 

He brings his hands to your waist and works the leathers open and down, tugging out your cock and stroking it a little, looking up at you shyly, grinning. “Like this?” 

“Yeah. Now allow me.” You take both of your cocks in your hand, bringing them together and squeezing, stroking at the same time. The heads squish together and Pelagos _sobs_ , pushing his face into your shoulder. “No, c’mon. Watch me. Watch this. Watch yourself. I want you to see yourself come.” 

“I - I don’t think I can-”

“Shhh, you can do it. Go on. Look at yourself.” 

Pelagos drags his face away from your shoulder, sniffling, breathing unsteadily as he ruts into your touch, thrusting with you and rubbing against you. Light, his skin is so warm and his cock is so hot. “I - I can’t, I’m gonna come too quick!” 

“That’s the idea.” You chuckle, stroking faster. “We don’t have a lot of time. It’s okay. You can come, Pelagos.” 

He keeps watching himself and doesn’t last a minute longer, spurting into your hand and shaking. You’re pretty damn close yourself watching him come apart, but then he does something you weren’t expecting. 

His fingers close around your wrist and bring your cum-covered fingertips to his lips, lowering his head to your lap, and he starts _licking himself off of you_. Your orgasm is like an immediate gut-punch, leaving you breathless as you come all over his surprised face. He giggles, wrinkling up his nose, and wipes it off, licking that mess up too. A few more minutes of that and a bit of clean-up finds you both kissing again, sharing the taste, as you both rest by the waterfall.

For one blessed moment, everything is calm and peaceful.


	10. Chapter 10

A dozen kisses later and you’re on your way to the Mnemonic Locus, where the collective memory of Bastion is stored. Pelagos heads off to Hero’s Rest, and you can feel the spell wearing off as you walk. For a few steps you’re unbalanced, but then everything is swiftly back to the way it was before, and you feel confident in your stride. 

Unfortunately, when you arrive, it’s clear things have already begun to happen without you. The Forsworn are already attacking. Kleia and a very angry-looking Steward in golden armor are having an argument with some sort of construct. It looks like the ones you were battling a few hours ago at the trials. As you get closer, you can see that it’s not actually a construct, just the projection of one. 

“Access to the Locus is currently restricted.” it says, in a pleasant voice. 

The Steward makes an _extremely_ rude gesture. “I MADE you! I am the Forgelite PRIME!” 

“Uhh...can I help?” You speak up, and both of them turn to look at you. Kleia sighs with relief but the Steward just puffs up his feathers and glares. 

“And where have _you_ been? I was promised help! The Forsworn have taken over these areas and corrupted all the constructs to change their allegiance. What’s worse, they have deactivated the Locus, and I can’t restore the Locus-Keeper until I can get in there. I need you two to protect me.”

“Sorry I’m late, then.” You take out your weapons and nod. “Lead the way.” 

Along the paths, you and Kleia manage to extract the cores from the corrupted Mnemis units, with the Steward - who introduces himself as Mikanikos - extracting the anima into one container as he goes. Once at the Locus itself, he roots among its papers to find the manual, then barks at you to go and add specific amounts of anima to each soul mirror. It’s somewhat refreshing to be bossed around by these little creatures, especially since you’d have no clue what you were doing otherwise. 

“Mikanikos, can the Locus extract memories from this as well?”

Mikanikos eyeballs the black shape as it expands back into Lysonia’s size. “And that is...?”

“A fragment of essence from one of the Forsworn. It may hold the secret of their origin.”

“Intriguing…” He muses, walking around the floating blob. “This is not going to be clean. It is small, broken, extracting memories will need to be sorted. If Locus does not explode in process, we can sort.” He glances up at you, then nods. “You, collect Forsworn memories. Should not explode.” he pauses. “ _Probably_.” 

“Hey, I’ve had worse odds.” You let him get set up, focusing the mirrors on connecting to the fragment of memory, and then start sorting things. It’s easy to tell the Forsworn memories - they’re dark, twisted, and attack you immediately while the more peaceful ones make their way to the Locus and join the collective memory of Bastion. Once they fall, though, they become harmless, smaller fragments that you can pocket, and once your bag is full, you return to Mikanikos. 

“Come on. Soul mirrors will show more from refined fragments,” he explains, and all three of you set down another path. 

The image of the Locus-Keeper flickers in front of you. “I am inclined to eject you from the Locus, if you insist on meddling.”

“I am going to reprogram her if it is the LAST thing I do.” Mikanikos seethes, all his feathers puffing up, smacking his hammer into his hand. Grinning, you all edge around her and towards a set of triptych mirrors at the bottom of the hill. Once you’ve dispatched the guards, you bring the memory to the mirror and watch the projection. Lysonia and a shrouded figure are discussion things quietly - ascension, pain, and the Process. However, the memory end swiftly and you’re forced to keep moving. The next mirror, and the next, and the next, and a story begins to emerge, of Lysonia being led to the Forsworn by someone above her in power. At last, you spot Uther again in the memory, but the Locus-Keeper interrupts before it can finish. 

“Hm. I do not believe you are authorized to view this memory.”

Mikanikos loses his shit, and lets out a harsh stream of curses that you didn’t realize these cute little fluffy things could say. “-Keep the Mnemis occupied! I will fix!” 

“Please remove yourself from the Locus at once, or you will be removed.” The Mnemis warns you, but once you start to engage it in combat, Mikanikos leaps onto its back and begins tinkering with its head. It staggers as it tries to keep you in combat. “I seem to be experiencing an error.”

“Error _this_ ,” Mikanikos says, and rips out a chunk of its wiring. 

“Excuse me while I exit c-c-c-consciousness.” The Mnemis stutters and sags, the machinery inside it coming to a grinding halt. The Steward continues to tinker for a few minutes more, then taps the back of its head into place, and it stirs back to life as Mikanikos hops down again. “Ah! Forgelite Prime. It is good to see you.”

One much, _much_ more civilized conversation later and you’re all on your way to the Vault of the Archon, fighting off Forsworn and gathering offerings to unlock the door. The Mnemis is so pleasant now, like the one at the very beginning of your day when you first arrived in Bastion, and when Kleia praises it, Mikanikos puffs up with pride. Once at the vault, offerings placed, you enter and look around, only to discover another barrier. “Uhh...this isn’t good.” 

“Ah, you meant to access the INNER Vault? I am afraid that is another protocol entirely.”

“You did not think to mention that earlier? Bah. Never mind. I will fix this.” He approaches the barrier and grabs his hammer again. 

Kleia and you exchange looks, standing guard by the door. A few Forsworn attacked you on the way down, but you all managed to get here without drawing _too_ much attention to yourself, so there aren’t too many stragglers. Eventually, Mikanikos gets the barrier open and you bring the memories down into the inner vault. 

Dark memories emerge here. Lysonia and the hidden figure discuss Uther being sent away, only to show the same horrific skeletal winged creatures that you saw in the maw. “That’s it! That’s the same thing that attacked us!” 

“So it _is_ true…” Kleia puts a hand over her mouth, shuffling into your side. “The Forsworn _are_ in league with the Maw! This is it, I _have_ to get us an audience with the Archon!!” 

“If this doesn’t prove it, I don’t know what will,” you grouse, and the Mnemis taps you on the shoulder. Confused, you turn to it. 

“I have deduced from the anxiety in your tone that you wish to leave. Please, use the Anima Gateway, and it will bring you to the main entrance.” 

“A most useful Mnemis,” you remark to Mikanikos, and he seems pleased as everyone uses the teleportation device to exit. Once outside, Kleia and you hurry to Hero’s Rest, meeting up with Pelagos, who takes you for a small tour while Kleia speaks to Kalisthene. There are quite a lot of Stewards here, many happily bustling about at work, but an equal amount resting or playing instruments - three of them are cheerfully playing a hornpipe trio for a few others who are dancing. 

When Kleia comes up and asks who can help her restore a beacon, two of the Stewards attend her, and all of you head over and help them repair it. “This will help us to summon the Polemarch,” Kleia explains. “A direct call.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

A giant winged being flaps down to the beacon after it is lit. “For what purpose do you light the beacon, aspirants?”

“Polemarch. We have urgent news for the Archon.”

He frowns, wrinkling up his mouth and nose in remembrance. “You are the ones from the Temple of Purity... Very well, then. Come on, I will carry you.” 

“Oh, I can just hold - urk!” he grabs you by the back of your vest and flaps off, and Kleia and Pelagos cheerfully wave at you from the platform as you sigh, hanging off the Polemarch’s arm as your legs dangle hundreds of feet in the air above Bastion. 

“The paragons have already assembled and await the Archon's arrival. It would be wise for you to listen until asked to speak.” the Polemarch says. “Such an illustrious audience is a rare honor, mortal. Do not squander it.”

“Yeah, yeah, this ain’t my first rodeo,” you bite back, and he gives you a silent _look_. The flight is uneventful - other than the dangling - and you land on a giant set of floating platforms in the sky, with towering pillars and statues. There’s hanging fountains and plants, and overall it looks very nice. Ascended are all over the place, the winged beings in full armor. This must be their HQ. 

As you land, finally able to stretch out and get your footing back, you hear whispered voices from behind you. 

“Her memories are unequivocal, Devos. Your Hand has sworn herself to the Maw!”

“Lysonia... I never knew darkness lurked within her…” 

You pause. The voices sound familiar, but you can’t place them, and with a shrug, follow the Polemarch up a set of stairs. “Be direct and succinct when telling the Archon of your news.” 

“Believe me, I’ve had plenty of time to plan this speech,” you grin, but before you can approach the Archon, Kleia and Pelagos run to your sides and begin pelting rapid-fire explanations at the confused-looking Archon. 

With a sigh, you just smile and let them do the talking. 

“Tell me of these Forsworn.”

“Most have merely lost faith and may yet be redeemed.” You recognize her now that you can look at her. It’s Vesiphone, the Paragon of Purity that you met while defending the temple. “But some have fallen so far as to wield the power of the Maw itself.”

“It is true.” Kleia adds. “This mortal has fought against ascended who are in service of the Jailer. Lysonia is not the only one.”

“We do not know when or where the Forsworn will strike next. But strike, they will.”

The Archon finally speaks, sighing. “What you speak of is unthinkable. But we must remain vigilant, nonetheless.” She looks around. “Paragons, return to your temples. Adrestes, monitor the wards.”

“Better than before?” You ask Kleia, who shrugs. 

“She seems to be taking it seriously, even if we don’t really know what to do next. Come on, let’s help the Polemarch check the wards.” 

“What are these wards anyway?” You inquire, as Kleia and Pelagos lead you down one of the floating pathways. 

“They’re protection over the temples, keeping them safe.” She explains, and Pelagos begins to check one side while Kleia checks the other. You sort of...stand in the middle, waiting for them to report back. 

“Good, the Temple of Loyalty's ward is active. The kyrian meditating on their duty to Bastion and the Archon are safe.” Pelagos beams. 

“Peculiar... the Ward of Purity is disabled. This is surely what allowed the Forsworn to invade in such force.” Kleia shakes her head. 

“Humility's ward stands strong. However, perhaps it would do the Forsworn service to relearn the lessons taught there.”

“The past memories of all kyrian are stored at the Temple of Wisdom. I am quite relieved to see its ward holding.”

“The Ward of Courage holds. That is quite the relief.”

“I should go and see all these temples some-”

“Fools!” A familiar voice and a set of black wings rise over the side of the platform, and Uther’s darkened face comes into view. “The Forsworn will triumph over the Archon.” He raises a hand, and casts some sort of spell, and the Ward of Courage shudders and goes dark. 

“Oh no, you’re not getting away this time!” You _launch_ yourself off the platform and grab hold of his legs, and Uther yells in surprise, kicking and struggling to get away. Kleia and Pelagos scramble to run for help as you put all your weight into swinging, ripping into his wings. He howls and goes for an emergency landing on the platform, and you’re able to take the opportunity and _punch_ him solidly in the face. 

Uther yells and clamps a hand over his nose; it’s leaking some sort of brackish fluid. “You dare attack me, mortal!” 

“You had every chance to stop this, and you did! You’re just one failure after another, you miserable human _wretch_ ,” you hiss, grabbing him by the hair and standing on his wings as you pull upward. The screech of pain he lets out is almost deafening, and your ears ring as you spot guards coming towards you from left and right. Uther struggles, but is unable to get up from under you with his points stretched out like this. “My city lies in ruins, my people decimated! You didn’t stop that Menethil brat when you had the chance! _Everything_ is your fault and now _this_ ? You should be _rotting_ in the Maw for your _fucking_ cowardice, _paladin_.” the last word comes out as a spit. 

His struggles slowly stop, and you let his hair go. His head smacks back against the platform and he grunts in pain, but just looks up at you, a mix of angry and sad. “Light...save my soul.” 

“Little late for that, isn’t it? And all the souls condemned to the Maw, too late for them. But then I suppose that’s what all you Forsworn want, isn’t it?” 

“No!” His eyes open again, more angry this time, accusatory. “I don’t want innocents to go to the Maw!” 

“Yeah, right. Why else would the Forsworn be in league with the Maw if you weren’t trying to funnel souls there?” 

“WHAT!?” Uther roars, and it’s enough to startle you backwards. He scrambles to his feet, but doesn’t take off. The guards move in, but he keeps them back at a glance. “What are you _talking_ about?” 

“Wait - you don’t know.” You blink. The memory...Uther had not been present for that part of the discussion. He’d been _purposefully_ kept in the dark? “The one who led Lysonia astray. She revealed the true allies, horrific winged beings in the Maw, an even darker echo of how you look now,” you gesture to his wings, his hair, his - everything. “Wait. You were there for the other parts. Tell me - who was it who Lysonia was talking to?” 

Uther frowns, then looks back at you slowly. “Devos,” he speaks, his voice wavering. “The one whom I - oh no.” His face pales; he steps back. “I - I only wanted to warn them. If they had taken my memories away -” 

You laugh. You _have_ to, and it’s harsh and cruel and he glares at you. “What’s so funny?” 

“They have _collective memory_ here, you absolute nightmare. _No_ memory is ever forgotten - or even fully removed. Anything you knew, they would have known, and _seen_. Hell, I had to re-live a whole bunch of private memories in front of an audience of _dozens_. There’s _zero_ privacy here, and _absolutely_ no reason for you to think you had to hide anything, unless you were _too stupid_ to see it.” You sneer, grabbing one of your weapons. “All you had to do was share those with the crowd and you’d have a hundred aspirants _screaming_. More, if you did it over and over. You could have had _all of Bastion_ see whatever you wanted them to see, if it was so important. It took me a matter of _hours_ to start making important connections here, and now here I am, the Archon in a panic because -”

An _enormous_ explosion rocks the platforms, and everyone staggers, confused, looking around. Another blast, and the entire pathway sways and tips, and several Ascended go over the side - and Uther falls. Pelagos and Kleia are hanging on to pillars for dear life and if you hadn’t gotten your chain hook out in time, you would’ve fallen too. Hopefully they can catch the wind before they fall forever, and fresh guards come to take the three of you back, everyone running around and screaming about the Temple of Courage. Uther had destroyed the ward, leaving it vulnerable. 

Vulnerable...and now under attack.


	11. Chapter 11

You’re put on a mount behind Kleia, and clinging to her for dear life as she drives the Larion onward through the sky towards the billowing smoke on the horizon. 

“I wish you could see the Temple of Courage at its best!” Kleia shouts over the howl of wind in your ears. “The Hand of Courage, Thanikos, will surely await us there!” 

“Let’s just get there in one piece!” You shout back, gripping her tightly as another blast makes your mount dip. It’s another rocky few minutes, but you land amid rubble and fleeing aspirants. Some are screaming, some are crying. Some are silent, but their shock and fear is palpable, and as you approach the defensive stand, you spot familiar faces through the cloudburst. 

It’s fucking _Helya_. 

“The ward has been sabotaged, as we agreed.” 

“Good. Our allies are eager to strike.” Helya smirks. 

“The kyrian temples will fall, and the Archon's reign shall be ended!” a cheer goes up from the dark, skeletal Masworn, rattling through the skies. The sound makes your stomach turn over as you bolt towards the tall, winged Kyrian currently barking orders at everyone. He waves you and your companions over quickly when he spots you. 

“I am glad to see I am not yet alone. The Maldraxxi attacked without warning!” 

“Maldraxxi?” 

“From Maldraxxus. Another guardian land of the Shadowlands, like we are.” Kleia fills you in quickly. “They have a different philosophy about how best to serve, and all things to their purpose - but this is too far! They are supposed to be our allies!” 

“Well, apparently they’re not.” You grunt, re-applying poisons to your weapons. “What’re we doing first?” 

“We need to secure our position, and then push forward. Our end goal is to push back the army, or at least, make them see that invading us is a bad idea and have them retreat.” Thanikos growls, pulling off his helm for a moment to wipe the sweat away. His hair is matted to his face, cheeks flushed, eyes rimmed. “Kill them - if you are able. Burn the corpses so they cannot rise again.” 

“You got it.” Just as you’re about to head down into the fray, Mikanikos shows up with another Kyrian, this one shouting your name. “What is it?” 

“The Maldraxxi are taking any survivors they find prisoner. They’re dragging our bodies and taking the living - please, help me save as many as we can.” 

“Need parts.” Mikanikos gestures to a construct. You’d thought it was rubble, but it’s actually intact...mostly. “Should be nearby, got blasted off. I can make it work again.” 

“Something that size will definitely be useful. I’ll keep an eye out,” you promise, as the rest of you finally head into battle. 

“We shall all meet at the Shattered Span below once our work is done.” Thanikos calls after you, and you hear Mikanikos snarking as you fall out of earshot.

“Loud and clear! I will just... _move_ the colossus... _somehow…_ ”

Killing a skeletal warrior isn’t as hard as it sounds. They’re held together by sinew and muscle and that’s just easier to cut. Pelagos sets fire to the bodies as you and Kleia knock things down. Here and there you find scraps, pieces of the colossus, and shove them as best you cain into your bags. Piles of corpses, Kyrian and Maldraxxi alike litter the pathways down to the shattered span, where Mikanikos is standing, inexplicably, with the colossus. “How did you…” 

Mikanikos snorts, narrowing his eyes. “ _Made_ it move.” 

“Remind me never to cross you. Here are the parts you wanted.” You help him put the parts back on, but he still needs time to infuse the anima and charge it up, so you and Thanikos keep the front line at bay while he works. 

“Call down your beasts,” Thanikos taunts the fliers. “They will perish just like the rest!”

“Ohhh, this is a bad idea…” 

“Fool. My army is all around you.” It’s true. They keep coming out of the sky, but they seem to be less bold now, more cautious. Their hesitation is their undoing; it’s easier to take them out this way. 

“Is that all you have? I expected more!”

“Thanikos, _shut up_!” 

The rider roars. “We are unending. Piece by piece, you will fall!”

From behind you, you can hear Mikanikos yelling updates. “It is nearly at full power! Just a bit longer!”

“That is enough.” Their leader sends a giant two-headed flying creature down to you, hissing and spitting venom. “Bonefang's spawn could use a treat.”

“Bonefang’s spawn, huh?” You and Thanikos make short work of it as your enemies howl above you. 

“Come, kyrian, if you are so bold. Fulfill your destiny.”

Mikanikos screams out from behind you. “The colossus is ready! Come! Come!” 

Dashing back towards him, you climb into the back of the centurion. Each blast from your cannons knocks fliers out of the sky, and the ground armies start to retreat - some even diving off the edge of the cliffs to risk falling, rather than meet a more painful end. As you’re chasing shots against the angry necromancer leader, trying to blast him, he changes direction. “He’s retreating!” 

“No! He’s heading for the Paragon! She was at the heart of the temple when the attack came. I can see her up there. If she yet draws breath, we _must_ lend her our aid.” Thanikos flies up to grab you, hoisting you up by the back of your shirt. “Xandria needs us!” 

“Do you people not have any other way of - oh, never mind.” You grab hold of his arm and hang on tight as he flies you up to the floating section of the Temple of Courage. It’s stained with ichor and green puddles that look disturbingly like plague, and smell like acid. 

“You cannot win this battle, necromancer! Our courage never falters!” That must be the Paragon. 

“It will take more than courage to save you now.”

“My paragon, you do not stand alone!” Thanikos raises his spear, charging the field. “For the Archon! For Bastion!”

“Thanikos, NO! Wait! Come back!” As you fear, he’s walked right into a trap, and is suddenly caught in a powerful grip. 

“Ah, just the vessel I require.”

Thanikos struggles, thrashing about in the spell. “What... are you... doing to me?!” His body begins to warp, flesh cracking and splitting, bones jutting out, his entire shape melting and changing. It’s horrifying to watch, watching his skin slough off like water. “No! No! NO!” He keeps screaming, even as his voice garbles from the transformation of his chest and throat. Your stomach tips again and you take a wobbly step back, fighting the insistent warmth rising in your chest; you push your head back, closing your eyes for a second to force air in through your nose and out through your mouth. _Don’t vomit. Don’t vomit. Don’t vomit._

“ _Thanikos_!”

“I have perfected you. Now serve me by destroying our enemies!”

The _thing_ that was once Thanikos turns on you and the Paragon, who’s managed to stumble to your side. Her wings and shoulders go up and her face twists from despair to fury as she looks from him to the necromancer. “Monster! What has driven you to this madness?!”

“You kyrian are complicit in a broken cycle. Bastion is a waste of anima. We shall seize it all.”

“Not while I stand against you.”

“Not while _we_ stand against you.” You clarify, stepping up, weapons at the ready. Xandria looks at you, then nods, a smile finally crossing her lips. 

“Thank you, mortal.” 

“Then you will be the next to fall. Kill them!” 

Xandria has tears in her eyes as she attacks her former Hand, and though you’d only known him for a few minutes, it still hurts to have to turn your weapon against him. His horrific transformation has left him a malformed bony structure that screeches and growls when you drag your knives over it. You leave deep gouges, and each smash of Xandria’s mallet snaps off more and more limbs like branches in a storm. Finally it collapses in a pile on the floor, and the Paragon raises her mallet over its head to finish it off. 

“My paragon... I... failed you…” it warbles, one of its skulls rattling. 

“No, Thanikos. You saved me.” Xandria chokes, her cheeks wet, and brings the hammer down. It makes an unpleasant, wet, _crunching_ sound, and she takes a minute to just try and breathe. She fails. Her sobs become screams, anguished sounds, like a wounded animal. “You will suffer for this, necromancer!”

“Come then, if you dare.”

Xandria charges off, but before you can follow, another kyrian lands beside you, out of breathe. “We need to get out of here!” 

“But what about -” 

“The Paragon can stand on her own until we gather reinforcements. Come. We must go to Oribos and inform them of Maldraxxus’ treachery!” 

Fuck, that’s right. Oribos - and those hosts - will need to know all of this. “Come on, let’s go - DON’T - grab me. I can hold on perfectly fine all by myself, thank you.” 

The disciple blinks at you, then shrugs sheepishly, holding out his arms. You grab on to him, wrapping yourself around his midsection, and he holds you as he flies back to the mainland. “Do you have a way back to Oribos?” 

“Yeah.” You fish a little whistle out of your shirt, from the chain around your neck. “They gave me a wyrm that’ll cross the barriers.”

“Good. I can’t fly you all the way there, but I’ll meet you at the upper ring. Right?” 

“Right.” he puts you down, and you immediately blow the tiny enchanted whistle. Out of the clouds comes the ensorcelled everwyrm, hurrying down to your side. Her covered nose pokes into your pockets, clearly searching for treats, but you just pat her head and saddle up quickly. “Come on, girl. We need to get back to Oribos. How fast can you fly?” 

She chuffs at you, a little hiss, and darts off into the air, towards an ethereal gateway. 

It’s not until you cross the barrier and are in the in-between space that you realize you didn’t get to say goodbye to Kleia and Pelagos. You have little time to mourn that, though, as the wyrm lands on the upper platform and you spot the winged disciple talking to one of the overseers. 

“Ah, you’ve arrived! I only got here a moment ago. I didn’t - my name is Apolon, I am the...I am now the Hand of Courage.” he says quietly, as you take the portal down to the lower level and hurry to where the others are waiting. You grab his hand, and he accepts it, squeezing your fingers and looking down at the ground. 

Everyone seems surprised to see you. Bolvar steps forward and opens his mouth, but you push past him, looking to Tal-Inara and coming to the table, releasing Apolon’s hand so you can point and gesture and articulate wildly to help make your point. Between you and Apolon, you’re able to get through everything quickly, leaving everyone in the room quiet and shaken. 

“This is dire news.” Bolvar observes. “Should the realms of Death be plunged into war, the Maw's power will continue to grow unchecked.”

“The Necrolords are masters of warfare, it is true, but they have always used their power to defend the Shadowlands. Not attack it.” Tal-Inara raises a hand to her mask, pressing her palm to the side of it. “Tal-Inara says: Mortal, you must learn their motives for striking at the kyrian. Do whatever it takes to stop this conflict before it escalates further. Without the might of Maldraxxus on our side, I fear we have little hope of stopping the Banished One.”

“What should we do?” You look between Apolon and Bolvar, then back to Tal-Inara.” 

“Maw-walker, are you willing to travel to Maldraxxus? There, you may be able to figure out the reason behind the attack.” 

“I don’t think I really have a choice, do I?” 

Tal-Inara’s form wilts a little. “We cannot force you. But there is no other path forward.” 

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ve already come this far, I’m not abandoning everyone now.” You shake your head. “But I need to restock on my supplies before I go.” 

“That should be fine. We can get whatever you need from the Brokers - there are more that have arrived since you left.” Tal-Inara gestures to the sides. “When you are ready, Overseer Kah-Sher will open a gateway for you. Please, hurry.” 

“I will.” You grip your bag with grim determination. “I promise.”


	12. PART II: MALDRAXXUS

_ It’s not unusual for the Maldraxxi to revel in strife and conflict, but it  _ IS  _ unusual for them to forsake their honor.  _ Overseer Kah-Sher’s voice rings in your head as you fly through the in-between spaces towards Maldraxxus, uncertain of what you’ll find. 

“C’mon, girl. Let’s look for a place with a lot of people.” You pat the wyrm’s side, and she squirms, then flies you over an empty causeway and towards what looks like an enormous arena. It’s a colosseum of sorts, and she touches down, letting you off before flying away again, getting high in the air to safety. 

With one final breath, you head inside. 

You appear to be in some sort of backstage area. Creatures of all sorts of shapes and sizes - looking a lot like the grotesque things that attacked Bastion - take no notice of you, putting on armor and sharpening weapons. One giant one appears to be barking orders, and you head up to him, wondering where to even  _ start  _ with your questioning. 

“Maldraxxi!” he spots you, grabbing you by the vest -  _ seriously, what’s up with all the grabbing  _ \- and dragging you in. “Why are you still in here! Grab a blade and enter the arena!” 

“I’ve got my own,” you growl, kicking at him. He drops you, but his face is grinning. He clearly likes your spirit. Might as well play along, for now. “I was just on my way there when  _ you  _ got in it. Want me to gut  _ you  _ instead?” 

He throws his head back and laughs. “Well-spoken! Fight well, gladiator! All of Maldraxxus is watching.” He points, and you head through the gate and down the stairs. 

It appears to be a free-for-all, but as you draw your weapons and start stabbing your way through the fray, the weaker enemies fall and the crowd begins to cheer for you. Their cries are somehow making you stronger, clearly some magic of the place. You move more swiftly, your weapons cut more deeply, your poisons more deadly. 

The laughing arena-master calls you back up after a while, and you take the stairs three at a time, sprinting back up. “Well done so far! I didn’t expect you to last, someone your size! You will fight our more elite contenders from the five houses of Maldraxxus.” he seems to pause. “Three houses. Now get down there and show me some glory!” 

You turn and head back down. The arena is being cleared of all the bodies, and the weaker combatants have all died or fled, leaving only the strongest fighting among themselves. This is almost easier - it’s far less difficult to sneak up on them when they’re distracted and there’s more space to move around. Bringing them down earns you cheers of praise and screams of delight. The grand-master calls you back again, up the stairs, and you’re covered in blood and ichor but are totally pumped. 

“Well done, challenger! You may outlast them yet. But you should not rest lightly! Two champions await you in the ring now.” he snaps, and attendants clear away, bringing out said champions. These ones are tougher, ganging up on you together in the hopes of taking out the strange, new competition before each other. However, they’re both huge and heavy, and using their bulk against their efforts proves useful - the bigger they are, the harder they fall. They’re dragged away by arena attendants as one final high champion bellows at you from across the arena. 

With the crowd’s cheers ringing in your ears, you sidestep into the shadows, and begin your hunt. The battle is over before it begins; the giant monster ambles around looking for you as you slowly slice your poisons into its massive bulk. It finally topples over and dies, and you stand on it, the crowd losing their minds in this, your ultimate victory. 

_ I could get used to this. _

The grand-master himself comes over the field and begins to praise you, finally telling you his name - Vole - and raising your hand, but suddenly, massive figures loom over the field, addressing everyone with booming voices. 

“A victor emerges!” The first one yells. He’s some sort of massive, bloated monstrocity. “But where are their banners? Which house do they fight for?”

“Look closer, Gharmal,” another purrs. This one almost looks like a lich. “We have a living mortal in our midst. Intriguing...

“Sin'dane, is this the meddler who thwarted our attack?”

“The very one.”

Wait, these are the ones behind the attack on Bastion? You bristle, but there’s no way you can take them on right now. They’re out of reach. Grandmaster Vole seems confused, releasing your arm. You start cleaning yourself of muck, biding your time. 

“So this mortal witnessed your treachery!” A third is yelling. Seems like this one is just as surprised as Vole. “Your houses invaded Bastion--an act that betrays everything the Primus stood for!”

“The Primus is long gone, Krexus! Where is your hunger for glory?”

Glory?  _ Glory!?  _

“Or has the House of the Chosen lost its appetite?”

“We are meant to defend the Shadowlands, not conquer it! You will recall your forces... or you will answer to my blade!”

“I think not, Krexus. Your blade... shall be broken.” The Lichlike leader snarls. “Slay them all.”

“Chosen! To arms!”

“Oh fuck.” You and Vole look at each other, but before you can ask which way is out, he takes off running. “Oh, fuck  _ you  _ in particular, asshole!!” 

You brandish your weapons, too late to use stealth, but before you have to kill anything else, someone swoops down on you from above - grabbing you by the vest, of course - and pulls you onto a flying chimera. “Woaaaah!” 

“Outsider! Hold on! We're getting out of here!” 

You barely manage to hang on to the chimera as she flies behind you, her voice growling and low. “I am Baroness Draka. The House of the Chosen stands with you.”

“Draka?” The name shocks you, and you try to turn, to look her in the face. “Draka-” 

“No time for talk. We move, now!” The mount lurches and careens sideways as she curses, and you just hold on with all four limbs. “We’ve been shot!” 

Far from the area, the three of you crash into a trench, littered with corpses and skeletons in various states of decomposition. The whole place reeks of decay and you retch a few times as you get to your feet. The ground here is unsteady, uneven, soft and spongy. 

“Come on.” The two of you begin to comb the remains of this battlefield for weapons, helping out scavengers as you go. Draka begins to convince them to join her House, and you just stay quiet, finally breaking to tie a strip of clean cloth around your nose and mouth to block out the smell of bubbling flesh. The air is making your eyes water and you wish you’d brought a goblin-made air filtration mask with you. As you go, she begins talking about how two of the Houses have already fallen, to betrayal and lust for power. It seems the Primus, the leader of this land, has gone missing, and in his absence, it is starting to fall apart. 

She leads you up the paths and roads, past strange mushroom-like growths that tower above you - fungal spores in the air - and vast marshes with strange, tall grasses that shift in the wind. It’s eerie, and though the smell of rot has died down a little, it’s still a bitter place. You adjust your face mask and keep walking. 

“The Chosen fight with strength and honor. We will crush the traitors and end this war.” Baroness Draka leads you into the House of the Chosen, nodding up to him. “Margrave Krexus is the strongest of us. Show him no fear. Only respect.”

“Of course.” You nod politely to her, then come to face him, taking your mask off. You breathe through your mouth to curb the stench, but it seems that the walls and open lava pits around the area have burned away the smell. It’s less decay and more sulfur. 

The Margrave nods at you, then at the Baroness. “You did well to pull the mortal from the arena. We could not let our enemies take her.” 

“She has shown resilience and strength. Qualities we need in these dire times.”

“Agreed.” He shifts, holding his weapon. “Put the mortal through her paces. Then join me in the necropolis. We have a war to wage.” As he stomps off, you finally have a moment, and turn to Draka, gently putting a hand on her arm. She looks at it, then up at you, her glowing-green eyes reading you. 

“If we have a moment, I think we should talk.” You say quietly, just above the hum of things happening around you. 

“Agreed,” she nods, and leads you into a quiet place where you both sit down for a moment. 

You dig in your bags, pulling out the medallion Thrall gave you, years ago, when you first swore your loyalty to the new Horde. 

“I think we both know something the other might need to hear.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! All zones will now have their own sections labeled in the chapter index menu. Chapters will be posted more frequently up to and including the end of the first raid, Castle Nathria. I was waiting for Blizzcon to see the trailer for 9.1 so I'd know what direction to take that side of the story!


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